Lost Time
by rubberradish
Summary: What would have been a normal day quickly goes wrong. When Cameron wakes up, everything seems normal enough. But when she finds out she's lost six months of her memory, she has to piece together everything she's lost, as well as a relationship she's completely forgotten. At the same time, House is struggling to solve the latest case when 2/3's of his team is out of commission.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Set in Season 3. Established Chameron.**

She watched him pick at his food, a small smile on his face. She had always loved this restaurant, and she loved that he knew to take her here. A flickering candle sat in the center of the small table, the orange light reflecting off their faces in the otherwise dimly lit venue. She studied his face, carefully constructed dirty blonde hair framing the blue eyes that were trained intently on his meal.

It was a miracle that they had actually managed to make the time to go out, let alone get a reservation. Being a doctor didn't make finding free time easy, and when you were on Gregory House's diagnostics team, constantly racing against the clock to solve a patient's life, it was even harder. At least they worked together, so whatever free time they had would be the same. She looked at his face again, the smirk still undeniably there.

"What's so funny?" she teased, leaning in.

"Nothing," he said, grin growing wider. "It's just... I love you." He looked at her, his blue eyes sparkling with joy.

"It's not even Tuesday," she said, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow. "Does it need to be?" he asked, in that stupidly endearing Australian accent of his.

She laughed, a twinkle in the light green of her eyes. "Eat your food, Chase."

"What," he said, twirling pasta around his fork, "you're not going to say it back?"

She smiled again. "Okay," she said, giving in. "I love you, Robert Chase."

Satisfied, he stuck the fork in his mouth, chewing in contentment before swallowing. "And I love you, Allison Cameron."

"You told me already," she said, laughing, spearing a piece of chicken off his plate.

"I know," he said defensively, raising his eyebrows. "I just wanted to say it again. Want to make sure you never forget." He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. "So, what are your thoughts on dessert?"

They walked, hand in hand, down the city streets. Hanging lights were strung between the street lamps, illuminating their faces in a warm yellow glow. The smell of food from the nearby restaurants wafted through the warm late spring air, and Cameron found herself sniffing the air eagerly, despite the fact they had just eaten.

"Four months," Chase said, looking up at the buildings as they passed by. "I honestly never thought you would say yes."

She leaned into him, smiling. "What, were you just planning on reminding me that you loved me for the rest of your life?"

He chuckled, the vibrations of his voice leaving a warmth in her chest. "Honestly? I probably would've given up. Lucky you stopped me in time."

"Hey."

He didn't recognize that voice. It was gruff, hostile. He turned quickly, her hand dropping out of his. A thug towered over them, face covered with a black ski mask. Well, this couldn't be good.

"Hand over your money, pretty boy."

He looked over at Cameron, briefly. Saw the fear shining in her eyes. He frowned, jaw hard-set in resolution. There was no way he was letting this guy take anything.

"No."

She tugged at his arm. "Chase, what are you-"

The man smirked. "Wrong choice, buddy."

A sharp, cold pain pierced his back. Chase gasped, staggering back, eyes opening wide. It was like his body shut down at once. His knees buckled under his now crushingly heavy weight. A choked cough into his hand. There was blood on it. He was going into shock, he realized, vision going dizzy. He'd been stabbed.

He could barely register being slammed into the ground, each breath becoming more difficult as his lungs filled with blood. There was someone on top of him. He could feel hands searching over his body, looking for valuables. Instinct kicked in, and he kicked the man as hard as he could.

His attacker staggered back, wheezing from having the air knocked out of him. The moment of pride didn't last long though, as his vision went dark as the other's fist slammed his face into the pavement.

"Get off him!" Cameron screamed. Through the bright spots that speckled his vision he could see her smaller figure rushing at the man, trying to claw him off. But the man he had hit was coming up behind her.

"No!" he cried out, twisting his body in a desperate attempt to move. He couldn't do anything, helpless as he saw the figure grab her, shove her hard to the side. He saw her lose her footing, saw the fall that felt like an eternity.

Saw her crack her head on the curb.

The thoughts flew through his head in a panic. No. No! It looked bad, but she had to be okay. She had to. She wasn't moving. Oh God, why wasn't she moving? The thugs were still there, taking whatever there was out of his pockets but he didn't care anymore, couldn't think straight.

"Cameron..." He dragged herself over to her body, using every ounce of his effort to not pass out beside her. The thugs were gone at this point. They had taken everything. He reached out two fingers, smearing traces of blood on her neck as he tried to feel for her pulse. Everything.


	2. Chapter 2

She opened her eyes and sat up blearily, listening to the repetitive beep of a heart monitor. Had she fallen asleep in a patient's room? She looked around, rubbing her eyes, wondering where the patient was, before realizing.

Her. She was the patient. As if on cue, blinding pain shot through her head, almost causing her to faint on the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut, reaching up to feel her head. Did her hair usually feel so... cloth-y?

Bandages, Allison. Bandages. A head injury.

What had even happened? Did she trip over something? Fall? Do something exceedingly stupid? She didn't know. She didn't know at all. It was common with head injuries to forget the incident when it happened. But that fact didn't stop her heart from beating faster, her breath catching in her throat.

"Oh. Hey. I guess you're awake."

Her head snapped up to see Dr. Foreman, walking in with a clipboard.

"I was just about to update your chart. How are you feeling?"

The throbbing pain in her head had not subsided in any measurable way. "Fine, I guess. My head's killing me."

Foreman nodded. "That would be the head trauma. You've been out two days." He wrote some notes down before continuing. "Do you know what your name is?"

She frowned. "Yeah." Two days? This was serious, then. How could she have gotten tangled up in something like this? "Do... you know what happened?"

"Gotta tell me your name," he repeated, a hint of concern bleeding through his stony facade.

"Allison Cameron," she muttered, blinking in the disorientingly bright lights. "What happened to me?"

"You were in an accident, that's all I know. You don't remember?"

She tried to think back, to recall a moment where she might've hit her head. It was if there was a blind spot in her memory, something she couldn't see, or had no feel for. "No."

He gave a curt nod, writing it down. "I'm not surprised. It was quite a nasty hit." He looked away in thought a moment, seeming bothered by something. "You know who I am?"

She nodded. "Foreman. We work together."

"In what?" he asked, rubbing his goatee.

"Diagnostics."

He nodded along, writing as she spoke. "And... how long?"

"A few years? I don't know, exactly." She winced, the questions making her head throb painfully. "Need anything else?"

The neurologist shook his head. "No, I think that's it for now. By the way, when you feel well enough to get up, Chase is in the next room." He got up to leave, tucking her chart under an arm.

Chase? He was hurt too, then. From what? The same thing? "Wait-"

Foreman stopped in his tracks. "Hm?"

"You said Chase was in the next room."

Foreman nodded. "You guys were out together when it happened."

She put a hand up to her head again. Out together... doing what? Pain shot through her head, making her wince. Okay. Too much thinking.

Foreman smirked. "Here. Catch."

A small pill bottle soared through the air, and she barely snagged it, the contents rattling inside. She read the label, squinting.

"...Vicodin?"

"Yeah," Foreman said, grinning. "Bet House will get a kick out of that."

House. Even thinking of the caustic man gave her a rush of adrenaline. It was stupid, she knew, but she couldn't help wondering. "Is he... around?"

He chuckled. "It's 8:30. You tell me."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. No. He wasn't around.

Foreman leaned over, moving his body slightly closer. "Two every four hours, by the way. Probably shouldn't be trying to read small print."

"Yeah... thanks." She popped two of the painkillers in her mouth and rinsed them down, then rolled back over in the bed. She'd sleep it off. It should help. She could figure everything out later. She sighed, waiting for the world to melt away.

Opening her eyes the second time was worse. It was like someone had been kicking her in the stomach. She was nauseous. Really, really nauseous. She ran out of her room and down the hallway, pushing into the bathroom as fast as she could.

It came out in a torrent, the remnants of a meal she couldn't recognize pouring out as she held on to the toilet seat for dear life. She sat, shaking, on the bathroom floor, emotions rushing in at once.

She's hurt, doesn't know how badly, doesn't know how it happened, doesn't know if anything is permanent, she can't think straight, everything hurts...

She didn't know how and when the tears started, but she sat, crying, back pressed up against the toilet, arms wrapped around her knees. It was utterly pathetic and she knew it, yet, she couldn't stop.

A knock at the door. She looked up, wiping tears away hastily.

"Are you alright, dearie?" An older woman, frosted blonde hair, thick Southern accent.

"Y-yeah, sorry." Cameron pulled herself up, letting the stall door swing open. "I've just been having kinda a trash day."

"Oh don't worry, honey, me too." The woman smiled at her fondly. "I'm here for my husband. They can't figure out what's wrong with him. He's under the care of a Doctor House."

House, huh? "Oh, I work with House."

"Oh?" The woman raised her eyebrows, giving her a disbelieving once-over.

"Yeah, I... I'm a doctor here." Cameron put a hand to her head, wincing as another jolt of pain shot through. "I should probably go. Nice meeting you though, Mrs..."

"Stevens. Amy Stevens."

She stuck out her hand, and Cameron took it. "Allison Cameron."

She walked down the hall, not really knowing where she was trying to go. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere where it wouldn't feel like her entire world had been turned on its head. She pushed open the door to the diagnostics room, basically falling into the nearest chair.

"The mummy walks," House remarked, tapping his cane on the ground. "Think you can help us with this case?"

"House, she has a concussion," Foreman retorted, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, right of course," he said, throwing up his hands in mock realization. "I couldn't tell since her head isn't wrapped up." He tapped a marker on the whiteboard. "Roger Stevens. Showed up with stomach pain, rash on the arms, and..." His voice faded off into the distance as Cameron found herself zoning out. The words didn't sound like words, the situation didn't feel... real. It was like living in an alternate reality, where everything was shifted, just a bit. She had been coming to this very room almost daily for years... how could it feel so strange?

"Cameron?" A hand on her shoulder. Like a fog being lifted, the real world seemed to snap back into place.

"Y-yeah, sorry. I think- I think I should go." What was she even doing? Where was she even going? She just needed to leave, needed to get out, get away.

She didn't know how she ended up in his room, but walking through the doorway was like a slap to the face. His face was bruised, an eye swollen shut. His torso was completely wrapped up with gauze, dark spots indicating dried blood. There were remnants of blood on his face and arms, and she found herself drawn closer, wishing she knew what had happened. She pulled up a chair and sat at his side, wondering.

What had they been doing out together? How would they end up in a situation like... this? She looked at his face, wondering what he knew that she didn't. Hang on. He was... His eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting hers. He blinked a few times in shock, staring at her as if she couldn't be real. Hesitantly, he reached his arms out, wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him. Their lips were only an inch away from meeting when she pulled back, terrified.

"What are you doing?"

He looked stunned, as if someone had just poked him with a cattle prod. "Kissing you."

"What?" She stepped back, head throbbing. It was so... out of the blue. Her breath quickened, heart thumping. Why would he kiss her? Why now? It's not like they were anything but coworkers, maybe friends at most. Why would that be his first priority?

Something seemed to click behind his gaze as he sat up on the bed, taking everything in. "Cameron, do you remember the incident?" he said, frowning.

She shook her head, slowly. "No..." Was there something she was supposed to know?

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She shrugged, trying to think back to beyond the insanity. Brief flashes of things she remembered, nothing solid enough to hang on to. "...Eating breakfast?"

Chase shifted slightly on the bed, wincing in pain. "Okay... what date do you think it is? Don't look at anything."

"November 9, 2005..?" She was guessing, really, but it seemed about right.

A sudden seriousness set into his features, a storm of emotions churning within the eye that was still open. "Cameron, that was six months ago."


	3. Chapter 3

What? Shock seemed to freeze her core, time standing still. She didn't feel like she was missing anything. How could she have forgotten without knowing? Without noticing anything?

"No, that can't be possible," she said, grabbing her head. "I can't-"

He grabbed her arms, steadying her. "It's okay. It's okay."

It wasn't okay at all. What had she missed? How much had changed? Nothing looked like it had changed. She scanned the room, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary.

He shook her gently, getting her attention back on him. "Cameron, amnesia is very common in cases of head trauma."

The corner of her mouth twitched. Did he think he was being reassuring? "I know. I'm a doctor."

"You'll probably get it back." She looked into his eyes, an unspoken admiration lighting them up. He did honestly, truly love her, didn't he? The thought twisted a knot in her gut. "I'm just- so glad you're okay. I thought I... thought I lost you."

Realization hit her like a glass of water to the face. She stared at him, gaze bordering from shock to horror. "Chase- are we-" It sat like a rock in her chest, but she had to know. "Are we... dating?"

He nodded wistfully. "Yeah."

She took a deep breath, letting the statement sink in. "How long?"

The smile was completely gone now, as his eyebrows scrunched up. "Four months." It was a barely audible whisper.

It was like her chest was constricting, her heart dropping down. "Chase-" It was like a tidal wave of guilt, washing over, drowning her. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, now holding his own hands in his lap. "It's not your fault."

She nodded, but the weight on her chest didn't change. If anything, it seemed to get heavier. Up until the point blinding pain shot through her head, and she staggered back.

"Cameron?"

She squinted her eyes through the pain, looking at the clock in the room. 3:45. "Damn." She wandered out of his room almost blindly, stumbling into her own, searching for the pill bottle. She popped out two as fast as she could, some of the tiny pills scattering across the table, and swallowed them as fast as she could. She sighed in relief as the pain ebbed away, at least to a tolerable amount.

"The mummy returns to her tomb."

She knew it was him before she even turned. "Seriously, House? What do you want?"

He pretended to be offended, placing his hands on his chest. "Is there something wrong with checking up on my employees?"

She rolled her eyes. "When it's you, yeah, there is. What do you want?" Her heart was beating faster, looking at him. He was a complete jerk. Why did she still get a rush looking at him? Was it the eyes? The attitude? The-

"I want to know what you're doing in my patient's room, taking my Vicodin."

She blinked, the thoughts of spending the night with House evaporating in an instant. "I-" She looked around, hesitantly. House was right. This wasn't her room at all. In fact, the patient was right in front of her, watching her with a confused terror.

"Who is this woman?" he inquired, hands shaking.

House ignored him. "Come on now, get out of here." He made a shooing motion with his hands, before looking down at the syringe he was holding. "Unless you want to do a biopsy for me. We're a little short handed at the moment."

Foreman walked up behind House in the doorway, arms crossed. "Come on, House. Leave her alone."

Cameron shook her head, brushing her hair back with a hand. "I'll do the biopsy." She took the syringe, walking toward the patient. It would keep her busy. Busy was good. If she was busy, she didn't have to think about the missing chunk of time in her head, didn't have to think about Chase.

House looked back, giving a small shrug. "Guess she'll do the biopsy."

The old man leaned up, concerned. "Sorry, is this safe? She's wearing a patient gown. Do you know this woman?"

"House-" Foreman started, stepping forward.

"Oh, relax." House sized her up. "Put a lab coat over that. Then run the tests."

Hours later, she was squinting at test results under a lab microscope. Negative. Again. She sighed, pushing her chair away from the desk. She had no idea what the problem was. Chase would know this stuff better. But even the thought of him seemed to physically hurt. She had spent more time than she would have liked to admit thinking about him. Thinking about... them. She had tried to imagine a thousand times how they had gotten together, what their relationship was like. She couldn't see it. Couldn't imagine splitting a meal, or falling asleep in front of the television. Even less so growing old together, or starting a family. Was she meant to tell him? She couldn't. It would... it would be too cruel. She might as well stab him again.

"So many tests, so little time." House threw his cane up in the air as he entered, catching it again. "I'm beginning to think you're trying to avoid something."

Cameron glared at him, glancing briefly at the results again before continuing. "The test results rule out-"

He walked closer, leaning almost menacingly over her. "Come on, what is it? You haven't visited Chase since he woke up, which would make sense, if you were Foreman. He's seen him twice since. Even a complete stranger you would've visited by now. I would think the whole getting stabbed thing would make him more attractive, not less. Was dinner really that bad?"

She stared at him blankly, blinking. Dinner? Was that what they were doing?

"Oh. _Oh_." He pointed at her, a light going off behind his eyes. "You don't remember, do you? You're avoiding him because you don't want him to know." He started pacing, before stopping to point clasped hands at her. "Or he does know, and you just can't handle the guilt of forgetting."

She hated that man sometimes. Really, really hated him. "The tests were negative for sarcoidosis," she said coolly, getting up.

"See," he said, stopping her in her tracks, "that would be useful if you hadn't screwed up every single test." He tilted his head, narrowing his piercing blue eyes. "Which sounds bad, until you realize you've done only one. In five hours."

"What? No..." she put a hand up to her head. Everything was spinning. She couldn't... She grabbed onto the counter, stumbling. The room was closing in. She was falling. It felt... familiar somehow. Strong arms grabbed her from behind, carrying her back to the seat. It was comfy, comfier than she remembered, and she felt herself slipping away...

"You maniac, I can't believe you let her work! You're wasting valuable time, We're already understaffed-"

"Relax, Foreman, just get her back in bed. I have an idea."

Darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

The pain woke her up. It was like the million tiny needles that had shot into her head and grown. It was getting worse. Where was that damn Vicodin? She grabbed for the pill bottle, feeling something smooth and vaguely cylindrical...

A loud shattering noise, ringing through her ears. That was a glass. Cameron grabbed the sheets, trembling. The pain was still worsening, and she held on for dear life, her knuckles as pale as her face.

Light. Blindingly bright. She writhed in agony, pulling the sheets over her head. It left as quickly as it came.

"Doctor Cameron?"

She knew that voice. Who was it, though? She didn't know. She couldn't think straight. She was in too much pain.

"Cameron? Are you alright?" She heard the crunch of the visitor stepping on the broken glass. "Cameron?" She still didn't know who it was. A woman?

A warmer hand was put up to her cold, clammy forehead. "Oh my God. Have you taken the pills?"

She shook her head, making the smallest movements possible. "It hurts like hell."

She felt the small, hard pills brought up to her mouth, followed by water, and she swallowed them, arms wrapped around her knees, waiting for the pain to subside.

The woman stooped down, bringing her face close to hers. "Doctor Cameron, I know this may not be easy for you, but we need to talk. Meet me in my office when you're feeling a little better, alright?" Office? Whose office? Thinking felt impossible. She could hardly process what was happening.

A new presence was in the doorway, blocking the little light that filtered through it. "Doctor Cuddy? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."

Cuddy. The woman was Cuddy. Why _would_ the dean of medicine be here?

"Just checking in," she replied, with a faint smile. "Is there something you need?"

The figure nodded. "Yeah, I was gonna run some tests. Try to find out the extent of the neurological damage caused."

"Go ahead and run them. But make sure she comes down to my office afterward."

"What's going on?" she whispered, huddled under the blankets. She was in trouble, wasn't she? Why else would the boss want to talk to her so badly? "Am I... getting fired?"

Cuddy recoiled in surprise. "Of course not, why would you think-"

She squinted at the silhouetted figure. "Who's in the doorway?"

The woman looked back, forehead creased in worry. "That's Doctor Foreman."

He walked closer, an equally concerned look on his face. "You don't recognize me?"

She squinted at his face, the features seeming strange for some reason, as if they were all shifted slightly. She checked them off in her head. Dark skin, the shadow of hair on his head... it was all there, but it wasn't right. "I do... you just look... different."

"How many black men in lab coats are running around this hospital?" He stopped, raising a hand up. "Actually, don't answer that."

Cuddy sighed, standing up. "I think you've got this under control," she said, taking a polite leave.

Foreman nodded and grabbed some gloves, pulling them on. "Okay, Cameron, I'm gonna take some..." He looked at the floor cautiously through the darkness, the glittery pieces of glass suddenly very visible in the scant rays of light that escaped the hall. "You know, I think I'm gonna call a janitor first."

"You wanted to see me?" She took a seat at the opposite side of the desk, fidgeting with her fingers. She rarely got called up to Cuddy's office. Everything that usually affected her was typically discussed through House. It had to be serious, or something that concerned her directly. She wouldn't be surprised if she ended up being chastised for something she didn't remember doing.

"Yes, and I don't think this should wait." She folded her hands on the desk. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." That was only partially true. The pain was definitely at a lower level, but the nausea had returned, to some degree. Vicodin really did work its magic, she had to admit. No wonder House was an addict.

Cuddy sighed, getting up and closing the blinds despite the fact there was no one in the darkened halls. "I don't know how to tell you this, but..." She sat, clasping her hands together, too tightly. "Cameron, you're pregnant."

"What?"

She felt like she had been hit by a bus. She couldn't breathe; her heart was racing. She looked down at her abdomen, couldn't see anything unusual. "That can't be possible."

"You came in about a week ago, asking for an ultrasound."

She shook her head in disbelief. A baby. She had made a baby. In six months? "How... far along am I?"

"About seven weeks, I think." Cuddy walked over to her.

Still pretty early on, then. But... She turned her head away, thinking. Babies had fathers. She thought of Chase, lying in the hospital bed. If they were together, then... "Is the baby..."

"Yes?" She placed a hand on her shoulder, a warm, motherly look in her eyes as she gazed down at her.

She shook her head. "Is it... the father..."

She nodded, suddenly understanding. "It's Chase's, yes." She took a deep breath, seeming to pick out her words carefully before responding. "You told me you wanted to confirm the pregnancy before telling him."

"Does he... know?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I don't know, I'm sorry."

Cameron returned to her room, her head spinning from more than just the injury. Her pregnancy was just another item on the quickly growing laundry list of things she needed to tell Chase. Needed, but didn't want, to tell. How was she meant to break anything off when there was literally a tiny human being cementing them together? She lay down, tugging the thin sheets loosely over her body. The bed was stiff and unfamiliar. She'd seen them on a daily basis, yet, sleeping in one, sleeping in one was different. Despite living alone, she felt a strange emptiness around her, like lying in a dark void. The things that should be making her world seemed to be crumbling it beneath her unsteady feet.


	5. Chapter 5

She was holding someone's hand. They were walking side by side, through a field of brilliant yellow flowers. She felt peaceful, more at rest than she had for a long time, as if this was the one place she truly belonged. It felt... perfect, but something was off. She looked up at her companion, but she couldn't see them. It was like a thick fog was obscuring her vision, blocking everything above the chest.

"Who are you?"

The figure didn't respond, only squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Please, I need to know." She stopped walking.

The figure tilted their head. "Don't you know already?"

They were right. She did know. But before her lips could form a name, the image seemed to slowly fade away, replaced with the glow of the hospital room lights.

"Good morning," Foreman said, walking in holding her chart.

"Hey," she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Do you have my results?"

"Not yet," he said, "but I'm gonna ask you some questions, alright?"

She nodded, straightening up a bit.

"Have any new memories popped up at all? Any improvements from yesterday?"

Had there been? She looked at his face, trying to think if she had remembered anything. "You look less strange."

He smiled. "That's good to hear. Anything besides that?"

She shrugged, still unable to recall anything. "I don't know. I had a dream. It felt real."

"...Okay." Foreman nodded slowly. "Well, it's a bit concerning that you don't seem to be getting any large portions of memory back, seeing that it's been over 24 hours since the injury, but..." he looked down at her with an unreadable expression. "There's no indication that the memory loss is permanent yet. We'll know more after I do your MRI later this afternoon." He started to leave, but stopped, suddenly remembering something. "Oh yeah, and your parents said they'd be coming in."

She nodded, watching him leave. No real portions of memory had come back. But she hadn't done anything to change that. She'd been running away from the only person who knew what had happened, knew what her life was like in those six months. She couldn't keep hiding and wishing that it would all come back, that she would suddenly be in love again, that all the pieces would magically fall back into place. She had to know what she was missing... but that would mean talking to Chase.

House slammed his hands on the dean's desk, the sound ringing through the office. "What do you mean their clinic hours are mine?! I've got a patient who's dying here! I don't have time to tell people they're idiots for thinking their cold is Ebola!"

Cuddy sighed, unfazed, crossing her legs. "House, they can't work. Not in this current situation. Take some responsibility for your team."

"Give the hours to Foreman!"

She pressed her lips together, unamused. "Doctor Foreman has already agreed to take half of the uncovered clinic hours", she said slowly, as if talking to a small child. "Plus, he _is_ currently in charge of Doctor Cameron's case."

House dismissed the thought, waving his hand. "We have other neurologists!"

Cuddy leaned across the desk, shooting daggers with her eyes. "Foreman wanted the case."

House scoffed. "Then cut him two-thirds, I don't care."

Cuddy shook her head, sitting back down with a sigh. "House. Please. I don't have any other bargaining chips here."

"I'm not taking those hours."

"Look, I've already arranged for a series of interviews, but until you hire someone, the clinic hours are split 50/50."

House raised an eyebrow. "You think I want to hire someone?"

Cuddy placed a pile of applicant files in front of him, looking intently into his eyes. "I think you _need_ to hire someone."

He looked at the files as if they were a pile of dirty laundry. "And what makes you think that-"

"They would help cover the excess clinic hours, for one thing."

House nodded, considering this. He got up to leave, but turned his head at the last moment. "What did you tell Cameron last night?"

"What?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He blinked. "Did I stutter?"

"How do you know that I-"

"Oh, come on, it's obvious. For the last week, you've had this glazed over look in your eyes every time..." He narrowed his eyes, looking at her with the trace of a smug grin on his lips. "Ah." He walked out the door, stopping right before it swung shut, and stuck his head back in.

"So, is that shirt new? Because it really shows off your-"

"House."

"What happened that day?" Cameron demanded, marching through the door of his room.

Chase dropped the book he was reading, fumbling to keep it from falling off the bed. "What- why are you looking at me like that?"

She folded her arms over her chest tightly. "I need to know."

He continued to have a dumbfounded expression plastered onto his face. "Yeah, but you're looking at me like I'm the one who pushed you. We got mugged." He held her gaze a moment before looking away, unable to maintain eye contact. "And I was stupid enough to try to look brave in front of you."

"I'm sorry." Her heart sank as he looked back up at her like a dejected puppy. Not because of the somewhat predictable cause of their injuries, but because of the love that seemed to pour out of his every orifice looking at her. Love that she didn't reciprocate, couldn't reciprocate. She pulled up a chair, somewhat awkwardly, in an attempt to lighten the mood. "How are you feeling?"

"Great, actually," he said with a cheesy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Though that might be just the morphine talking."

She nodded, unsure of how to react. "Do... you want to talk about the stuff I don't remember?" As long as he was telling her things, she didn't have to tell him anything back. She didn't want to even think about telling him anything yet. Definitely not about the incoming little bundle of joy.

His eyes lit up. "Yeah." He twiddled his thumbs, unsure of how to start. "Well... before we started dating, I fell in love with you, and you couldn't have cared less."

She smirked, if only for a second. That sounded familiar. Maybe too familiar.

"Anyway, I was convinced that you loved me too, and..." he laughed, looking down, "I decided to remind you, every Tuesday, that I liked you, until you would admit it." He shook his head. "It's so stupid now that I look back on it."

Cameron felt her head shake reflexively. She was trying to picture what he was saying, trying to see herself living through these events, trying to remember. Nothing. She felt nothing. It was no different than hearing someone describe a dream that she had happened to feature in. She looked back quickly, realizing he was still talking.

"...I had basically given up before you showed up at my door telling me you wanted to hear me say it, just one more time." He looked at her fondly, the expression faltering when he saw that her face was almost devoid of emotion. "Sorry, do you want me to stop?"

"No, go on," she insisted. "It's just... it's weird hearing things about me that I can't remember happening. You could lie to me and I wouldn't even know."

He nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway, we went out that night, and I guess that was our first real date."

It didn't feel as strange as she was worried it would be to sit and listen to the stories. In fact, she was grateful to be able to fill in some of the gaps. Chase wasn't the greatest storyteller, often going on long tangents and laughing at his own jokes. Yet, despite it all, she was so wrapped up in it all that she almost didn't realize that she was smiling too.

A loud clattering noise rang down the hallway, snapping her out of the trance. It was getting louder, frantic footsteps pattering behind it.

"House, what do you think you're doing?!" Foreman ran down the hall, quickly catching up with the whiteboard-pushing doctor.

"Cuddy hasn't gotten me a team yet." He rolled the board into the room, the cacophony of the wheels bouncing off the walls. "Good to see that everyone's here," he announced, addressing them like a class.

Foreman sighed, standing in the doorway. "Cameron is concussed. Her cognitive function is-"

"He's not," House said, pointing at Chase, before looking back. "What, you thought everyone could just get a free 'hurt' pass?"

Foreman frowned. "That's what usually happens when you're injured, yes."

"Not at this hospital, Eric," House retorted, smirking at Foreman's displeased reaction to hearing his first name. "Otherwise I'd have never showed up at all."

"You show up late every day!" Foreman exclaimed.

"And yet, _you_ are always on time."

Foreman rolled his eyes, looking away.

While the neurologist sulked, Chase was scrutinizing the symptoms on the board. "Which ones are the most recent?"

"Top to bottom," House snapped. "Did you hit your head too?"

Chase shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's you. You never know."

Cameron squinted at the words on the board, despite knowing it couldn't be good for her brain. Rash, stomach pain, elevated white count... She read the list twice before something clicked. "These symptoms look a lot like that one guy, the bowler."

"Yeah, you're..." Chase started, before snapping his eyes to Foreman's, "...right. That was two months ago."

"Yeah, I know," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked up, eyes widening. "Wait."

The two men were in awe. "You remembered something," Foreman said, before turning and rushing out of the room.

"Seriously?" House exclaimed, raising his arms in the air.

Foreman walked back in with a clipboard, jotting down notes. "Sorry. Just got to make a note of this."

"Right. Can we talk about _my_ patient?"

Cameron shrugged. "Male, mid sixties, no history of-"

House wagged his finger in her face. "Uh uh uh, you're concussed." He stopped, reconsidering. "Or maybe that's just a really good excuse to tell you to shut up whenever I want. Go sit in the corner and look pretty." He looked at Chase. "And you, quit ogling. She's not going anywhere."

"I'm not ogling," he said, looking somewhat offended.

"Right, and I don't have a bum leg." House tapped his cane on the board. "Differential diagnosis."

Chase shrugged. "Could be a parasite. That could explain the brain inflammation and elevated white count."

House looked at Foreman with a pointed look. "I told you this was a good idea."

Foreman sighed. "Doesn't seem to correlate with the fever. It could simply be a neurological issue. There might be underlying causes that we've overlooked."

"Pneumonia?" Chase suggested.

"Doesn't explain the rash," House said, pointing the marker at the mentioned symptom.

Cameron wrapped her arms around her knees, looking out the open door. A nurse was pushing a cart down the hallway, filled with miscellaneous medical equipment. It felt weird to be on the other side of operations, not that she hadn't been in hospitals before as a patient. She had gotten check-ups and the like, just like every other person, but being in this hospital, the one she happened to work at, definitely felt different.

A thwack to the arm made her look back at the others in the room, a small bottle rolling back and forth on the floor.

"I guess she didn't catch," House mused, knocking it closer to her with his cane.

She leaned over and picked the small container up. House's Vicodin. "What...?"

"You take some out and swallow it," he said, writing something on the board.

She tipped it over, knocking out two of the small, white pills. House turned his head, looking back. "With your mouth. How hard did you hit your head?"

She glared at him, swallowing the pills dry.

"Okay, so Chase-" he looked at the man lying in the bed before turning and pointing- "Foreman, start him on broad spectrum antibiotics, and..." he scanned the occupants of the room quickly, "Foreman, go check out their place afterwards."

Foreman sighed. "I guess it's all me now," he said, throwing his hands up in defeat as he walked out of the room.

"Cameron," House announced, watching the neurologist leave, "let's talk in the hall."

Great. Whatever he had to say, it couldn't be good. Something outrageous and morally bankrupt, maybe some deep, dark secret she didn't even know she was keeping. She stood, following him out. "What's going on?"

House leaned on his cane, the motion causing him to loom over her smaller frame. "Does Chase know that you're pregnant?"

Shock contracted her chest as she looked at him, outraged. "How do you know that? Did Cuddy tell you?"

"You think I need her to tell me? Come on, give me more credit." He tapped his chin with a finger. "Interestingly enough, a lot of the symptoms you've been exhibiting could be from either the head injury or the metaphorical bread in the oven. Convenient cover-up, huh? Now, I'm assuming by the horrified look on your pretty face that he doesn't know. In that case..." He stuck his head back into the room. "She's pregnant."

Cameron's face somehow contorted into a more outraged expression as she marched up to him, resisting the urge to shove him into the wall. "You bastard!"

House shrugged. "He was going to find out sooner or later."

"Cameron," Chase called from the bed.

House's pager beeped, and he looked down at it briefly before putting it back on his waistband. "Whoops, looks like I have an interview to go to. Have fun talking to daddy." He walked away without a passing glance.

She should've known he would find out. She should've known he would tell. Slimy, dark dread wrestled with the white-hot threads of anger in her stomach. She walked huffily back into the room and sat back in the same seat.

"Is it true?" Chase said, eyes wide.

She looked at him, blue eyes shining with hope, and she could feel the annoyed expression melting away.

"Cameron?" He repeated, reaching out a hand to try and take hers.

She ignored his hand, and he awkwardly dropped it back into his lap. "Yeah. It's true."

He shook his head, completely at a loss. "That's amazing," he whispered. "That's absolutely amazing."

Shoot. He was happy. What if it was intentional? There was no way she could... rob him of the chance to be a dad. "Were we... trying to get pregnant?"

He shook his head again, stunned. "Not at all." He looked at her, face completely slack. "We're gonna be parents," he whispered.

She had to tell him. She couldn't keep this facade up any longer, couldn't entertain false hope. "Chase, I..." I don't love you, she thought, but the words didn't come out.

He didn't seem to have noticed what she was trying to say. "How did you find out?"

She was almost glad to avoid it. "Cuddy told me I went in for an ultrasound a week ago."

The look in his eyes seemed to harden, a sudden seriousness turning his soft features to stone. "You need to get another one. Fast."

She looked at him, confused. What did he mean? The baby wasn't going anywhere.

"The baby, Cameron," he said, a gentle look of concern melting the hardness away. "We need to make sure nothing happened during... when we got mugged."

"I-" she looked away. "I don't even know if I want to keep it yet."

It was his turn to be confused. "What? Why?"

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. She had to tell him now. There was no going back. "Because...because I don't love you."

To her surprise, he didn't seem too affected. He didn't break down, didn't cry, didn't even look particularly sad. He nodded once. "I know."

"I don't want to give you false hope, I..." She shook her head. His indifference wasn't comforting, it just made things harder. This was an enormous deal, how could he just sit around? Couldn't he tell how important a decision this was? "Just think about it," she insisted. "Imagine our kid grows up. She'll say, 'why don't daddy and mommy love each other?' She'll ask about us, and I'll say, 'I don't know, sweetie, I don't know.'"

He took this in, nodding again.

"How can you be so calm?" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands in frustration.

He shrugged. "Because I know you'll make the right choice. I'm not worried."

She shook her head, standing up. "Those drugs are messing with your head," she huffed, walking out. She didn't look behind as she left.


	6. Chapter 6

"This again, huh?" House looked up to see his best friend, boy wonder oncologist James Wilson, walking in. He took a seat beside House's desk, leaning back in the chair. "Are you just going to reject every applicant again?"

Again. House thought back to the brief period when Cameron had quit, and he had refused to hire another person. He tossed his red and gray oversized tennis ball into the air, catching it. "This time it's only temporary. I only have to put up with them for a few weeks."

Wilson raised his bushy eyebrows, grinning. "You mean they only have to put up with _you_ for a few weeks."

House pointed at his friend, smirking. "Ah." He pulled up the first file, flipping through it without reading the contents.

"Hi." A young man stood at the door, short cropped red hair and a face full of freckles. "I'm-"

House flipped the file open to the first page, frowning. "Dr. Kyle McConnell." He looked up at the thin, unassuming man. "Well. Maybe I only need _one_ new candidate."

"What, so he's hired?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"No, but if every candidate is _this_ below standard, we're having all further discussions in Doctor Chase's room." He looked over at Wilson, raising an eyebrow. "You know, the one who can still work."

Wilson's eyebrows wrinkled up, dark eyes filled with disbelief. "You haven't even met the guy!"

"Oh, come on, just look at him." House gestured at the applicant with his cane.

Wilson turned his head to look. "He looks fine."

"Um, I'm right here," the man said, raising a hand nervously.

"I want a doctor with confidence," House said, crossing his legs on his desk. " _He_ couldn't even introduce himself."

Wilson splayed his hands out. "You didn't let him!"

The man was somehow in a more awkward pose than when he came in, arms wrapped around his body like limp noodles. "Sorry- should I leave?"

"See? He's already given up." House tilted his head up to meet the eyes of the confused young man. "Get out of here."

He gathered his things and left in a hurry, and House tossed his file in the trash.

"Really? You're not gonna give him a chance?"

"He had a chance. He blew it."

Wilson sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Cameron sat at the edge of her bed, shaking two pills out of the bottle she was given and chasing them down with a swig of water. It felt like that was all she had been doing all day, taking Vicodin. Thinking had somehow become more painful, so she had done nothing but lie in bed since she left Chase's room. She hadn't done the ultrasound yet, hadn't even considered asking yet. She didn't think she wanted to know what she would find.

"Allison?"

She looked up. Her parents had just entered the room, walking to the bedside.

"Hey. Mom. Dad."

Her mother sat down, cupping a hand to her face. "We're sorry your brother couldn't make it, he had some business he needed to take care of."

"It's fine," she said, with a faint smile. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," her father said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Her head was throbbing. "Fine. You don't need to worry. Really. I'll be fine." The smile took more effort to keep on her face than she expected.

"Oh." Her dad seemed to have felt it too. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah." She didn't know the last time she had eaten. The dinner she couldn't remember?

Her mother smiled, but her eyes gave away the poorly concealed concern. "Doctor Foreman told us about your memory problem. Are you coping okay?"

She thought about the tumultuous past few days. "Yeah."

"You know who we are?" her dad said, trying in vain to make a joke.

Her lips were pressed tightly together before she spoke. "Yes."

Her mother tugged lightly on her father's arm. "We're gonna grab some lunch. Take care of yourself, sweetheart."

"Always."

They left somewhat reluctantly, passing Foreman and exchanging some quick greetings as he walked back in with a clipboard.  
He turned his head back momentarily. "Your parents, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you let them go just like that?" He looked at her quizzically. "Who are you and what did you do with Cameron?"

She lay back down on the bed, letting the corner of her mouth twitch up. "Right, I've been replaced with another person."

Foreman raised his eyebrows. "Okay, this is going on your chart."

A light seemed to flash before her eyes. "What?" Was he crazy? She sat up. "Just because I didn't want to talk to my parents?"

"Mhm." He nodded, writing something down.

She shook her head in disbelief, but didn't try to argue further. There was a sudden throbbing pain distracting her.

"It's fine. Moodiness is bound to happen, but it's a symptom nonetheless."

Why was he talking down to her? They were supposed to be equals. Did he think she was stupid? "I'm not-" she huffed, crossing her arms. "Okay. Fine. Maybe I'm a little 'moody'. Sue the pregnant woman."

Foreman almost dropped the clipboard, looking up in astonishment. "You're _what_? Who else knows?"

She shrugged hostilely. "Basically everyone, thanks to House."

He nodded, slowly. "And why am I, your doctor, the last person to know?"

She shrugged again. "Too busy breaking into houses, I guess. You find anything, by the way?"

Foreman seemed slightly irked by her uncharacteristic brashness, but shrugged it off. "Nothing particularly interesting. Typical suburban home." He put the clipboard down, walking closer. "Anyway, I'm here for your MRI, if you'd-"

A flash. She wasn't in the hospital anymore. It was dark. Someone was there. She wasn't safe. They were going to hurt her. "Get away from me!" she screamed, desperately trying to distance herself from the person. An instinctive drive kicked in, and she grabbed the nearest thing, raising it up into the air.

"Whoa. Whoa! Hey!"

Whatever had taken over her body snapped away as quickly as it came. What was she doing? Her arms shook, barely carrying the stand that held an IV bag, swinging side to side from the sudden movement.

"Put it down," Foreman said firmly, his hands also grasped tightly around the pole. "I'm going to let go, okay? Can you hear me?"

She nodded. He took a deep breath, letting go and taking two steps back. It was like the weight of her own body was crushing herself, and she practically fell back onto the bed, the stand rolling harmlessly to the side.

She lay in the MRI, staring at the curved, plastic ceiling. "I'm sorry," she muttered as he set up the machine. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

He chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, at least you're acting like yourself again. I should've guessed there might've been PTSD earlier. But someone's kept me a little busy." He walked behind the glass, pressing a final few buttons before leaning into the mic. "Just stay still and we'll get this over quick."

The banging noises of the machine were somehow louder than they usually were, seeming to pierce straight through her skull, shaking up its contents. Each subsequent bang felt worse than the last, and she felt a strong dizziness start to engulf her.

"Cameron? You okay?"

"Don't really feel too great," she managed to force out, teeth gritted tight.

"Hang on, almost done. Just stay still."

She closed her eyes, squeezing them as tight as she could without moving her head. The nausea was overwhelming. She didn't think she could take it anymore. She was going to-

The banging stopped, and without a second's hesitation, she pulled herself over to the edge and threw up on the ground. Her vision was still spinning, but she could tell through the haze that the vomit was nothing but water.

"Oh, shoot!" Foreman ran out, putting a hand on her back. "I should've stopped it. I'm sorry."

She would've shaken her head if it wasn't for the circumstances. "No, you had to. It's okay."

He looked at the ground, frowning. "When did you last eat?"

She didn't move, afraid of increasing the pain. "Don't know."

"But you told your dad-"

"I lied." She was gripping the edge for dear life, chest heaving up and down.

He looked at the ground again pensively. "I... guess I'll call the janitor again. But after that, what do you think about lunch?" She could feel his gaze shift over to her. "Just to try and bring some normalcy back into things."

She half-smiled at the floor. "I'm pretty sure my parents are still in the cafeteria."

"I'm sure we can figure something out." A sudden beeping filled the room, and Foreman looked down at his pager. "I've got to go. Patient's in cardiac arrest. You know where your room is, right?" Then he was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts again.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: As we get closer to the disease I've entirely made up, please note that I know absolutely nothing about medicine and that anything medical is probably not accurate.**

"The patient's condition has not improved. I'm thinking a more targeted approach is necessary. Any new ideas?" House looked around the room. "Hey." He whacked his cane on the plastic bedside, knocking Chase awake. "Can nap time wait?"

"Dammit, House, I've been stabbed, alright?" He grumbled, reluctantly sitting up.

"Right, your head still works. I need new ideas. Where's Foreman?"

"He's getting the last batch of test results," Cameron said, who had taken the same seat as she had earlier.

"You," House said, pointing at her, "what part of 'get out' do you not get?"

"Probably just hit my head too hard."

Foreman rushed in, carrying papers along with something wrapped in foil. He dropped the foil package into Cameron's lap, before reorganizing the papers. "Sorry I'm late."

The package was warm, and she opened it to reveal a sandwich. Ham and cheese, the latter melting out the sides.

"A promise is a promise," he said with a smile.

She looked at him, noticing for the first time the pronounced dark circles under his eyes. "When's the last time that you slept?"

He shook his head, dismissing the concern. "About two days ago. Eat the sandwich."

She complied, bringing it up to her mouth. It hurt to chew, but the smell was intoxicating, and the desire to eat won over as she continued consuming it.

"I did the Lumbar puncture."

"And?" House tapped his cane on the bedside again, as Chase was nodding off.

"It looks like MS, but that doesn't cover all the symptoms."

House nodded. "So, two things at once. Chase?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know... might just be a really bad allergy."

House looked at him. "That's a stupid answer and you know it. Any allergic reactions would have disappeared when he was brought in."

It was clear from the look on his face that Chase wasn't having it that day. "You're the one who keeps waking me up!" Chase yelled, a fire burning behind his eyes.

House didn't seem to care. "Right, and you're the one peeing into a bag." He cocked his head. "Sorry, thought we were stating the obvious."

"It's possible there might have been an undetected allergen nearby," Cameron said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "We could double check his room."

House rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Brain Damaged. You're a genius."

"Look," Chase started, sitting up straighter, "I'm in the damn ICU, Cameron had her head practically knocked open, and Foreman is overworked half to death. Just hire the next person who walks into your office, or do something for yourself for once. This isn't going to work. I'm done."

House contemplated this, staring off into the distance, before nodding once. "Enjoy nap time," he said, before limping off.

"Wow," Foreman said, looking out the door. "Did House just listen to you?" He shook his head, a stunned look on his face. "...Anyway, I'll check for allergens. I still think Chase might've had a point with that." He stopped, staring at the rest of the team's blank faces. "What? What's behind me?"

A police officer stood outside the door, hands on his hips. Foreman froze, stepping back. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled up with the law again.

Chase leaned over. "You think they finally caught on that we've been breaking into houses the last two years?" he whispered, not daring to raise his voice.

The officer walked in, somewhat warily. "Hi. I'm from the Princeton P.D. Are you Dr. Robert Chase?"

He nodded. "...Yeah."

"I'm Officer Johnson," he said, sticking out a hand. Chase took it, watching the man cautiously. "I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened two days ago."

Foreman, somewhat relieved, flashed a cheeky grin before slipping out of the room.

The cop turned to Cameron. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to leave the room. This is confidential information."

"No-" Chase stammered, too quickly, "she was there. It's fine."

The officer nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Did you notice anything about your attackers that would help identify them? Tattoos? Hair color?"

"I uh, well, I don't remember what they looked like," Chase said, scratching his head. "They had black ski masks, I couldn't see their faces."  
"Do you know what might've motivated the attack?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, pausing before continuing, "except for maybe my stubbornness."

The officer nodded, jotting down notes. "Nobody you would suspect it to be, or-"

"No, nothing like that."

Foreman studied the woman who had been perched in front of the patient's window for hours. Forehead creased in worry, thin strands of bright blonde hair framing her thin, pale face.

"Are you Mrs. Stevens?"

The woman nodded as she turned to face him, her tear filled eyes still shining with some hope.

"I'm Doctor Foreman, I'm one of the doctors on your husband's case." Okay, well, one of two was still one of. "Has your family made any changes to your routine recently? Started a new soap, cleaner, medicine, anything like that?"

She shook her head. "No, we've been using the same stuff for the last twenty years. Roger, he doesn't really like change. I guess that's why he's kept me around this long." She tried to laugh it off, but her eyes betrayed a deeper set sadness.

Foreman nodded. "And have you noticed any changes in personality, habits, new hobbies-"

BEEP BEEP BEEP. BEEP BEEP BEEP. The patient's heart monitor. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Foreman rushed inside, trying to assess the situation as quickly as he could. The man wasn't breathing.

"Oh my God!" The woman screamed, following behind.

"I need you to stay outside!" He was running out of time. Fast. "Get me a nurse in here!" He stuck a bag over the man's mouth, pumping air into his lungs. "Chase, I need-" He reached out, hand closing around thin air. He needed that syringe. But it was too far. He was alone.

He let go of the bag, reaching for the syringe, and grabbing it, just barely. He fumbled for the medicine, reaching back to pump another few breaths. He let go to fill the syringe with the liquid, tipping it up to squeeze residual air out of it. One squeeze. One movement. He could do this. He could-

The long, droning beep of failure. Ringing in his ears. The man had no pulse. He dropped the syringe back on the tray, ripping open the man's gown while trying to get the defibrillator started. He picked up the paddles, own pulse racing in his ears. His arms were shaking as two nurses rushed in, quickly realizing they couldn't do anything. It wouldn't work. The man was dead. There was no way. He shook his head, placing the paddles down on the man's chest.

"Clear!" he yelled, before administering the first shock. The man's body jerked into the air, but otherwise didn't respond. Once. Twice. Three times. "Please... come on..." He kept trying, each attempt more frenzied than the last, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Foreman dropped the paddles to the side, wiping the sweat off his brow. His heart rate gradually slowed, breaths becoming more steady, as a bitter taste filled his mouth. Time of death, 1:27 PM.

House walked into his office, letting the glass door shut behind him. Wilson was already there, digging into his unidentifiable lunch.

"Something from home?"

Wilson twirled his fork, a piece of food stuck on the end of it. "Oh yeah. Chicken tikka masala. And no, you can't have any."

House sat in his chair, spinning side to side. "Who said I wanted any?"

Wilson swallowed the bite he had taken. "Oh come on, there might as well be a light over my head every time I eat."

He looked above his friend's head. "Who said there wasn't?"

Wilson pointed a finger at him accusingly. "No, you are not making me look up."

House made a mocking sad face. "But the next interviewee is up there."

"Actually," a voice cut in, as a young woman took the opposite seat. "I'm right here. Hailey Fletcher."

She stuck out a hand. House didn't seem to have noticed it.

"You're hired."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Do I have to say it twice?"

The woman shook her head, smiling. "That's great, I've been trying to find a job ever since my last boss-"

House waved a hand in her face. "Don't care. You've got the job provided you can start now."

The blonde pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, a smug grin on her face. "Sure. I've had nothing better to do for a while."

House pushed a file across the desk. "Find out what's wrong with this guy."

The door swung open, and Foreman walked in. "Forget it, House. He's dead." Without another word, he walked away.

Wilson took a deep breath. "House-"

The man stood up, grabbed his cane, and left the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Cameron found herself walking the halls of the hospital aimlessly. It was better than being in that bed any longer. She just needed to clear her had, needed a change of pace. If anything, she was glad she had the option to roam around, not being confined to her room. Those cheesy medical dramas were only interesting for an hour at most before it became repetitive drivel. She didn't know how House could ever find them entertaining. So some attractive young doctor couldn't keep it in his pants. So what? Oh whoops, made too many children with too many women.

She sat on a bench in the hallway, adjusting her gown so it wouldn't ride up her legs. To be fair, she'd fit right into one of those dramas now. Lost memory and a baby. Next thing she knew she'd find out that the baby's father was someone entirely different. Maybe it was Wilson, she thought, rolling her eyes at the idea. If there was one thing that continued to worry her though, it was the missing chunk of time in her head. She wasn't sure how memories were supposed to come back, how she would know if she remembered something. She knew they were missing, but it didn't feel like it. It almost felt like she was living a lie that was all too real. The actress in the drama who couldn't remember her part. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The one who didn't know her part, but had to play it anyway. There was an entire person growing inside her. She put a hand on her stomach and tried to picture herself as a mother, grasping a tiny hand in her own.

Excited shrieking filled her ears, as the pitter patter of small feet rang down the hall. "Mommy! Mommy!"

Her eyes snapped open. A little girl, about eight or nine, ran down the hall and jumped into her mother's arms, the latter of which was in a wheelchair.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, wrapping her arms around the girl. "You've gotten so big!" Cameron found herself staring, almost longingly. She remembered caring for baby dolls when she was younger, always wanting to be a mother herself.

"It hasn't been that long, Mommy," the girl insisted. "Look at what I made at camp!" She held her wrist proudly in the air, and her mother held it in her hand, admiring the simple bead bracelet wrapped around it. Cameron looked at her own empty hand. It really wasn't a question of if she wanted to start a family. She just didn't know if she was ready.

The dad caught up, giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek. "Who's ready to go home?"

She looked at him, doing a quick double take. He looked a lot like her first husband, so much so that she felt the slight sting of loss by looking at him. She had known then, known that being with him would never lead to a family. Knew that marrying him was only temporary. It didn't make it hurt less when he died.

She watched the family go down the hall, her eyes trailing the man's face. Come to think of it, he looked a little like... Chase. She looked down, unable to stare any longer.

She had that chance now. The chance to start a family with someone. She just didn't know if she could love that someone. Yet... She looked down, trying to picture the new life growing inside her, little limbs forming, moving for the first time. She put a hand on her abdomen, trying to sense the baby. She didn't feel anything, but she knew she had already decided.

Wilson found him on the rooftop, sitting on the edge facing inwards. A mild breeze ruffled his hair, and he looked up at the fading afternoon light. Despite the circumstances, it was still beautiful outside.

House's head was bowed, hands clasped in his lap, making no indication of acknowledgment. "Don't- don't start your spiel, alright? I don't want to hear it."

Wilson walked over, taking a seat besides his friend. "House, patients die. It happens every day in this hospital. You know that."

"I just needed more time. I swear... multiple organ failures... stomach pain... a rash?"

Wilson frowned. Was he still trying to diagnose a dead man? "You don't care about this man, do you? You're just upset you couldn't figure it out."

"I'm _upset_ because my patient's dead," he snapped.

"Your patient's dead because you overworked people fresh out of a traumatic incident!"

House didn't respond, but the stiffness of his posture clued out that the oncologist had struck a nerve.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "I get it. You believe in your team, and you're afraid of change. But people have limits, House. And so do you."

He shook his head. "I should've seen it earlier."

"Either way, sulking about it isn't going to help."

House bounced his cane on the ground. "I'm not sulking. I'm trying to figure out the cause of death."

"You're hung up on something you can no longer change. What's the difference?"

"The ground's right behind you," he said loudly, avoiding the conversation. "Give or take seven floors."

Wilson looked down, scanning over the rows of parked vehicles. "I think I'd hit your bike first. I'd imagine you wouldn't want blood stains on your impeccable leather seat."

"That handicap spot is awfully close, huh?" House frowned, suddenly deep in thought.

"What? What is it?"

He stood up, leaning on his cane before hobbling away.

Wilson watched him walk away, glancing briefly at the closest row of cars down below. At the very least, no one had become a splat on the pavement.

Cuddy ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I don't know how I didn't think of this earlier."

Cameron propped herself up on the exam bed, leaning back. "Don't worry. You've got a lot on your plate."

The dean of medicine smiled sadly, looking at her briefly before continuing to calibrate the machine. "Thank you, but I'm in charge of this hospital. I should be looking out for my employees."

"Of which there are many."

Cuddy leaned over, applying the gel to her stomach. "Well, that's still no excuse." It was cold and sticky, and Cameron took a deep breath, a sudden rush of anxiety hitting her.

She was about to find out soon, whether she wanted to or not. Whether the baby was okay. Whether or not she would have to figure things out with Chase. Whether or not she'd be taking a plunge into motherhood.

She felt the transducer get placed down, searching around her uterus, and she turned her head away from the screen instinctively. She didn't know if she wanted to know. The rest of her life was hinged on this one moment. She didn't even know what she wanted.

"Cameron?"

She turned, eyes still avoiding the screen. She looked at Cuddy's face, searching for a hint of an answer. She was smiling, wider than she thought she had ever seen. She shook her head, a glossy look coming over her eyes. "It's perfectly fine."

"Oh my God." A wave of relief crashed over her body, leaving Cameron trembling. "I-" She slid off the bed as if in a trance, wrapping her arms around the dean. "Thank you."

She felt her recoil in surprise, before returning a hug that felt stiffly professional at first, but softened after a moment. "Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

Oh, right. "Sorry," she stammered, pulling herself back on to the bed. She felt she should say something, reaching for words to break the silence. "Have you ever wanted to be a mother?"

Cuddy didn't respond, gently wiping the goo off of her. She threw the wipe away in a nearby bin and sighed. "Every day."

Cameron blinked up at the ceiling, trying to repress the hordes of butterflies that churned through her stomach. "You'll get the chance, one day," she said out of reflex, but her mind had gone wandering away. How was she going to tell him? What would she even say? Oh God, she had to tell her parents, too, didn't she?

"We're all done. Do you need me to walk back with you?"

She tried to recite the lines in her head. Hi, Chase. I still don't remember ever loving you, but we're going to be parents in approximately 7 months. No, that didn't sound right. We're friends, we can figure this out, right? You're good with kids, aren't you?

"Doctor Cameron."

She blinked a couple times. "Yeah, I can walk back on my own."

She walked in quickly, unable to control the jittery feeling that had taken control of her. "Chase," she said breathily.

He looked up in surprise, the room's phone pressed against his ear. "Yeah. I'll call you back, sis."

"I got the ultrasound." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She couldn't stop the smile that felt permanently fixed to her face, though. "Everything is fine. Everything is great, really."

Chase raised his eyebrows. "That- that's wonderful. Have you... decided what you want to do?"

She nodded, taking a few more steps in. "Look, I- I still don't remember much of what happened in the last six months. I don't know if I ever will. But I can't just get stuck in the past." She looked at him, the image blurring slightly as tears filled her eyes. "Chase... I don't know what the future means for us, but... I'm willing to try." She took a shaky breath, wiping her eyes quickly, refocusing the picture. "Robert Chase, will you go on a date with me?"

He took her hand, brows furrowed. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She nodded, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Yes."

"Then..." He looked down, a smile slowly twisting out of his features. "Absolutely."

A noise she didn't know she could make escaped her lips as she threw her arms around him, inducing a small yell of pain. It was like a pot inside her was bubbling over with liquid happiness, and she nestled her face in his shoulder. It felt familiar, as if it was ringing a bell she couldn't hear. Stunned, he wrapped his arms around her, the grip going tighter with shaky relief.

"I've missed you," he whispered, almost in disbelief that she was really there, that she was real and in his arms again.

She pulled back a little so she could see his face. "I don't- I don't even know if I should be hugging you," she said with a small, awkward laugh.

Chase winked, a light dancing behind the deep blue of his eyes. "Don't worry. If anything happens, I've got the best doctor in the hospital right here."

Before she could even process what she was doing, she found herself leaning forward, pressing her lips against his. He recoiled in surprise, before returning the kiss, more desperately than she had expected. Yet, it wasn't unpleasant. It was warm, safe. Like a hot drink on a cold day, or a blanket fresh out the dryer. Cameron felt a flame ignite in her stomach, like burnt ashes smoking into embers once again. It felt... right. She pulled away, breathless.

"That line was pretty good, wasn't it?" Chase said, smirking.

"That was the worst thing I've ever heard," she said, but she was smiling, feeling truly content for the first time since the accident. "I wouldn't be any use if you tore your stitches. I'm not a surgeon. You are."

He laughed. "I guess you've got me there. I suppose I could resign to the terrible fate of dying in your arms."

"Oh, not this again," House groaned as he limped in. He tossed a case file in their direction, and Chase barely caught it, pressing it up against Cameron's back.

"House, we're off the case," he said, annoyed.

"This," House said, pointing his cane at the file, "is not the same case. The first guy is dead. And now we've got two more with the same symptoms. Figure it out before we have an epidemic."

"He's what?" Cameron exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. "That's impossible, it's only been a few days-"

A young woman in a lab coat walked in, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. "Dr. House, what are you doing here? I've been looking all over for you. Who are these people? Are they more patients?"

House looked at the the two team members, then back to the woman. "Yes."

She frowned. "They don't seem to have the same symptoms..."

House nodded at the two. "Truly a genius." He leaned over, pretending to whisper. "I took your advice," he said, out loud.

"Hang on," Chase said, "why is she wearing my lab coat?"

The woman looked down. "Oh, so you're-" she scrutinized the embroidering on her chest- "Doctor Chase? Doctor House said it belonged to someone who doesn't work in the hospital anymore."

"Were you honestly too lazy to ask Cuddy for a new one?"

House ignored the question. "This, is Doctor..." he gestured at her.

"Fletcher. Hailey Fletcher. I suppose I'm your temporary replacement." She turned to Cameron. "And you are...?"

"A brain-damaged idiot," House said, giving her a passing glance.

"I.. am not an idiot," she said huffily

"See, that's what an idiot would say."

Cameron sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'm Doctor Cameron. I guess we'll be working together once I'm cleared to work again."

"Also known as right now. You're cleared."

"Foreman never-"

House shrugged. "It's not that hard to forge a signature."

Cameron got up, walking over. "You can't do that. I'll tell Cuddy-"

"Tell her what? That you're going to let these poor people die because you just _really_ needed that vacation time?"

"It's not her responsibility!" Chase yelled, fists wadding up handfuls of his sheets.

Cameron sighed. "It's fine. I'll... do whatever I can."

"Great," House said, looking at Chase, who continued to glower back. "He'll do the thinking, you'll get samples, and Foreman will run the tests. You can draw blood without killing someone, right?"

"I..." She honestly had no clue. Was there a chance... Her eyes grew wide with realization. Was there a chance that what she had done to the patient had led to his death? "I can't."

"You didn't kill him," House said, looking down, "I did an autopsy on the first patient."

"Then you should know what it is," Chase said, frowning. "Why are we still running tests?"

"Because," Foreman said, walking in, "this looks like something we've never seen before." He looked around the room. "Does anyone know where Cameron's file is, by the way?"


	9. Chapter 9

Cameron could feel the new doctor behind her shoulder, watching everything she was doing.

"Am I just supposed to stand around and do nothing?" she huffed, crossing her arms. "If you don't need me, don't hire me, right?"

Cameron sighed, placing a syringe to the side. "House... is kind of particular when it comes to picking team members."

Fletcher raised an eyebrow. "What, why'd he hire you?"

Well there was no way she was telling her the truth. 'He thought she was pretty'? She shook her head. "I... don't know."

"An enigma, huh? I can get behind that." She walked over, pulling up a seat.

Cameron smiled half-heartedly. "I don't think you want to get behind this one." She sterilized the needle, studying the metal tip shining under the fluorescent lights. It shook, trembling from side to side. No, her hands were shaking. It was just a routine test. Why was she nervous? "Hey, do you want to draw some blood?"

"Hm?"

She held out the syringe. "You'd be less bored, for one thing."

The blonde took it, looking slightly confused. "Sure." She rolled over to the patient, and filled the syringe in one fluid motion. "Here." She held it out, and Cameron accepted it, putting it in a sterile bag.

"Thanks."

"So... how long have you and Doctor Chase been together?"

Well then. Cameron pressed her lips together into a hard line. "I... don't know how to answer that. Sorry."

"Still figuring things out then?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Cameron stood up, walking out of the room. She really didn't want to be having this conversation right now.

"Have you guys had sex?" And that nosy girl was still there.

"Look, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop snooping around my personal life," she snapped, walking faster. She could only remember that one time when she was high on meth, but, to be fair, that was barely a memory of its own right. It had to have happened more than once, though. Otherwise this whole baby situation wouldn't make any sense.

"Well, I was just trying to be social. Sorry if I offended you."

"Right." The other doctor's mere presence seemed to make her head hurt more. She walked into the diagnostics room, noticing Foreman hunched over at the table. "Hey, I've got something for you." He didn't show any sign of comprehension, so she walked closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Foreman?"

His head rolled loosely to the side. "Oh my God," she whispered, before a soft snore cut through her words. She shook the shoulder, and he snapped awake, lifting his head up.

"Huh...? Oh, hi, Cameron. Must've... dozed off there." He rubbed his eyes, almost in an attempt to rub away the evidence of his exhaustion.  
She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. "I thought you were dead for a moment."

"Nope. Not yet."

She placed the bag on the table gently. "Here. Go run some tests." She looked behind her at the younger doctor. "And take Doctor Fletcher with you." As if on cue, the other two's pagers went off simultaneously, filling the room with tiny beeping. "Or we'll see what House wants..."

He stood beneath a series of lit up diagrams, the blue light they emitted illuminating the otherwise dark room. Even in the darkness she could still make out Chase's form, sitting in the corner with his arms crossed, IV stand beside him.

"What's new?" Foreman asked, shutting the door behind the entering group.

"These," House started, pointing at the diagrams with a finger, "Are some of the results of the autopsy. Anything look funny to you guys?"

"Yes," Cameron said, walking over to Chase. "What are you doing here?"

"Physical therapy started early," he said, gesturing his head toward House.

"Better question. What are _you_ doing here?" House said, raising his eyebrows at Cameron. "Unless you were hallucinating a little beeping thing on your waist, in that case we might have to refer you to the psych ward."

"I work here," she retorted, sitting down. "Unless Foreman suddenly doesn't remember signing a release form."

"I... what?"

"If you're not useful, you're a liability. Get out. I'll tell you when I need you." House turned away from her, pointing at the diagrams again. "What looks strange here?" he demanded, louder this time.

Foreman shook his head. "It looks fine? I didn't sign any release-"

"There. Right there." Fletcher ran up to one of the diagrams, tapping on it. "A lesion in the lower left lung."

"Exactly, Doctor Fisher."

"Fletcher."

"Yeah, whatever. So, knuckleheads, what does this mean?"

"Could mean a lot of things," Chase said, shrugging.

House gestured for him to go on. "The patient had no history of breathing problems, suggesting..."

"That this was a later development," Foreman said, arms crossed.

House nodded. "Check both our patients. Do a chest MRI, anything you can think of that would tell us the issue."

"We've been running in circles. We're not getting anywhere," Chase said, frustrated. "If you're dragging us out of bed, there better be a good reason."

"You agreed to it."

"I agreed to it because I thought you had something new! We're running all the same tests on different people. We need something definitive!"

"You ripped your stitches."

"What?!" He put a hand to his back in a panic.

"Nah, I'm kidding." Chase dropped his hand down, glowering. "Doctor Chase is not a complete idiot. But, seeing as these are different people, it makes sense to run similar tests again."

"Does that sound like House to you?" Foreman whispered, coming up to Cameron's side.

"No," she replied, confused. "It doesn't make sense for him to not have a theory by now."

"Well? Didn't you kids hear the 'go run some tests' bell? Go!"

"I don't know," he whispered, shrugging. "By the way, meet me in your room in an hour." He got up, walking out the door.

"Chase," Cameron said, stopping him in the hall. He turned, interested. "Why are you out of bed? I thought we were going to be split tasks."

Chase snuck a glance back at the dark room, before leaning in. "He's getting desperate."

She nodded. "Yeah, I can tell. Your pager's hooked on your collar."

He shrugged, looking down at it and grinning. "I'm not wearing pants," he said, raising his eyebrows to give her a look before walking off as if he hadn't said anything.

She crossed her arms, watching him go with a smirk. She could swear that man was a child sometimes.

To be fair, though, she wasn't wearing pants either.

"Hey there. I finally got some news for you," Foreman said, walking in. "After, you know, I found your file."

Cameron looked up from sitting on her bed. "What's up?"

"Well," Foreman said, taking a deep breath, "it looks like the memory loss is going to be permanent. Though I feel like you were expecting that already."

She nodded. That was what she had thought, but she still felt engulfed by the cold tendrils of disappointment.

She was sure he could see it clearly on her face, as he quickly tried to backtrack. "It's not all bad, though. The disorientation should go away, and cognitive function should return for the most part. I wouldn't even be surprised if bits and pieces started to come back here and there."

She nodded again, the cold, gnawing feeling not changing in any noticeable way. "Thanks." It sounded hollow, even to her.

Foreman stood stiffly for a moment, contemplating what to do, before sighing. "This isn't my job, but, you're not just a patient either." He shook his head. "It's going to get better. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but... it will. Trust me, I know. The only thing you can't do is give up."

That was... oddly touching. She smiled gratefully, and he returned it.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to finally get some rest for once," Foreman said. "Good night."

She watched the door close behind him before leaning back with a sigh. Concussions were boring beyond belief. Cameron wanted nothing more than to be able to curl up with a good book, watch a show on TV, anything that would pass the time faster. She closed her eyes, waiting for the world to fade away... Tomorrow would be better, she told herself. Tomorrow would be better.


	10. Chapter 10

Someone's screaming woke her up, the anguished cries penetrating the hospital's thin walls. She groaned, rolling over and putting the thin pillow over her head. Sure, it wasn't rare for patients to scream, but she was trying to get some sleep. And with House around, getting enough sleep was already a challenge.

The now familiar pain shot through her head, and she tipped out two Vicodin pills clumsily, swallowing them with a dash of water. The man was still yelling, and she shifted under the blankets, trying to resume a comfortable position. Please stop screaming, she thought miserably.

Sighing, she lay, sprawled out, staring at the ceiling. The screams sounded familiar, didn't they? They-

Her body froze up, and she found herself hugging her knees some time later, shaking with fear. Her entire body was covered with a cold sweat. Her breaths came in desperate gasps for air. What had just happened? Was that a memory? The screams had died down, and she tried to calm herself down, taking slow, shaky breaths that gradually became steadier. Okay. Okay. You're okay. She re-adjusted her sheets, pulling them back up. She didn't feel tired anymore.

She was sure she was coming to some revelation though, before the panic attack. The screaming man. That voice. Oh no.  
She walked into his room hesitantly, the lights still off. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, not showing any sign of acknowledging her presence.

"I saw you die," he whispered without moving.

She took a seat beside him, wondering if she should initiate contact before folding her hands in her lap. "How did you know it was me?"

"Heard you wake up. Sorry."

"Don't be."

The silence dragged on for minutes, and Cameron felt her head begin to drop before he spoke again.

"I couldn't do anything about it. I was right there. You never woke up."

"I'm right here," she said, putting a hand on his leg as confirmation.

"I know. I just- I don't want to live without you," he said, voice cracking. "I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"No, no... not at all." She wrapped her arms around him, felt the wet spots left behind on his gown from tears.

"I almost got us killed, I- I don't know if I could live with myself if-" He looked at her, face contorted in pain. "It- It sounds selfish, but- I really feel like I lost a piece of you that day." He shook his head, dirty blonde locks flying around. "I still had you, you know, but I lost my girlfriend."

She had no idea what to say back, arms suddenly feeling like dead weights. He was right, after all. There were memories he had that only he could carry the burden of now, both happy and sad. No one else would remember the times they shared together. But... "Hey, I've got an idea."

"Hm?"

"Come on." She held his larger hand in hers, leading him through the darkened halls of the hospital.

"Where are we going?"

She tried to navigate based on memory, scanning her surroundings. "Hang on. Careful on those steps."

She pushed open the heavy metal door, a strong blast of icy wind flapping the unwrapped parts of her hair around her face, the brown strands cutting like little blades. When they made it out, however, the night was clear, only a slight breeze rustling the leaves of the trees down below.

Chase walked out slowly, tucking a strand of his hair behind an ear. "The roof?"

"Yeah." She walked over to the ledge, taking a seat. "Figured we both needed some fresh air."

He sat beside her, watching the twinkling stars up above. "You know... I know you don't remember this, but I'm surprised you took me up here."

She leaned on his shoulder in a way that felt surprisingly natural. "Why's that?"

"One time," he said, crossing his legs, "we went to the roof of your apartment. Sat just like this, watching the stars."

"I don't know any constellations," she said, frowning at the sky.

"You didn't then, either," he said, looking longingly at the sky. "We made them up."

She laughed. "What, like kids?"

"You'd be surprised how much fun it was." He pointed at a cluster. "See, right there, that's House's cane."

"That looks nothing like-" she stared at the cluster again. "Actually..." she pointed at some others. "You know what that looks like?"

"What?"

"A cat." She looked at him for a response, but he had gotten lost in thought, gazing up above with an unexplained sadness. "Chase?"

He nodded silently. "Sorry. It's just that... that's what you said the first time."

She looked up with him, at the small twinkling lights that dotted the dark fabric of the sky.

"Foreman said my memory isn't coming back."

He didn't respond so she looked over at him, eyes glued upward, head nodding numbly, and she knew. What she had earlier interpreted as indifference was actually thinly veiled despair.

She didn't know how long they sat like that, staring at the sky silently. At one point in the night, his hand found its way over and she took it, wondering if this experience lived up to his memory. She saw a single tear, lit by the moonlight, trail down his cheek, and he wiped it away hastily, as if he didn't want her to see. She looked at his face, a few days' worth of stubble lining his cheeks. No. This probably wasn't how he remembered it. After a while, she wished him goodnight, got up, and prepared to leave, but took a long, last glance at his eyes transfixed to the stars.

The next morning, Cameron sat on her bed, hunched over in thought. Chase's words seemed to echo in her head. He had lost his girlfriend. She wasn't coming back. Every time she thought of his face, looking longingly for something, someone he could never have, it seemed to tighten a vice grip around her heart, telling her she was a fraud. A faint echo of the love they might have shared, the relationship they had.

"Guess what?" Foreman walked into the room, driving her thoughts from the topic. "Cuddy thinks you should go home."

"That's... good?" Cameron said, still trying to shake the troubled thoughts from her head. Why was he making that frustrated face?

Foreman, completely oblivious to the internal conflict that had previously taken place, continued. "See, the thing is, House wants you to stay. Because if you're going home, you can't come back here for a few weeks. And if you're not here, he can't make you do his bidding."

Cameron could already picture a displeased House making up some sort of ludicrous excuse why she had to stay. "What about the release form?"

He scoffed. "Yeah... Cuddy found out about that. It's void. And she took your file."

"So the consensus is..?

"I'm not your doctor anymore," he said with a grin. "You're going home."

Home. She had never been so relieved to be able to go home. There was just one last thing she needed to do.

"Hey." Cameron stood in the doorway of the diagnostics room, unsure if she should go any closer. Chase had been bent over a case file, but looked up as she entered. It was clear that neither of them had gotten much sleep last night, if any. His hair was darkened with oil that hadn't been washed out, thin strands of it hanging in front of his face.

He blinked wearily in her direction, eyebrows questioning. "Hey," he said, his voice pitching upward in question, not seeming to understand why she hadn't already entered.

She walked over to the familiar glass table, not daring to sit down. "We need to talk."

He nodded cautiously, eyes trailing her every movement.

The only way to do this was the rip the bandage off, she thought. She couldn't let this relationship play out.

"I... did some thinking. And I decided that... I can't do this."

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice suddenly raw, vulnerable.

"I can't do... us." She took a slow breath, trying to keep her voice steady. She had to do this. "Look, I... I'm keeping the baby, but..." she shook her head. "I'm not the girl you loved. I can't pretend to be her anymore."

He shook his head, eyes widening in desperation. "Allison, please-"

She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. "...Don't make this harder than it needs to be. I- I'm sorry for dragging you along these few days. I'm sorry for letting you think that- that this could work. It can't. It really can't."

He kicked back the chair and stood up, stumbling forward."I don't care if you're not the same person." He reached out and held on to her arms, his touch surprisingly gentle given the desperate edge in his voice. "What I said last night-"

"It's what you meant." She looked up into his eyes, the blue circles shining in unspoken pain. "I'm sure what we had was great. But that's not what it is anymore."

His head shook the faintest amount, eyes wide, the arms that held on to her trembling with effort. "If it's too soon, I'm willing to wait... Please-"

She shook her head, blinking away the first tears that had begun to form. "Goodbye, Chase." She took a final step back, his arms dropping to his sides like a puppet whose strings had been cut. "I'm sorry..."

She left the room, wet trails running down her cheeks as she left him in the middle of the room, trapped in a time only he could remember.


	11. Chapter 11

Going home was one of the worst spot-the-differences games Cameron had ever played. It was like living in an alternate reality, picking out the little things that weren't there before. New paint in the lobby. Remnants of a recently spilled drink on the carpet. One of the numbers on her neighbor's door had fallen off. She stopped in front of her door, looking down. That welcome mat was different. Did she even have one before? This was still her place, right? She reached for her keys, bringing them up to the doorknob. Well, only one way to find out.

She unlocked the door, letting it swing in before walking into the apartment. Well, the general layout was about the same. Slightly wilted flowers were in a vase on the dining table, and she picked one up, twirling it between two fingers. That was new. She didn't usually keep flowers. She dropped the flower as if it had shocked her. They had to be from Chase. Forget about him, she told herself, picking the flower up from the ground and putting it how could she? She kept seeing little bits and pieces of him everywhere, maybe even where there weren't any at all.

A man's jacket was draped over her couch. She poked at a sleeve cautiously, as if it would reach out and bite her. She would have to give that back at some point. What would she even say? No. She was thinking about him again. He doesn't exist, she thought, shaking her head. At least for the afternoon.

She walked into the bathroom, catching her own appearance in the mirror. She almost laughed aloud. She looked awful. It's a wonder no one had stopped her in the street, or ran the other direction in a frenzied panic. Her hair was an absolute mess, brown strands sticking out here and there. Without makeup, the dark creases on her face that had accumulated over the last few days were starkly visible. She reached up and felt the back of her head for the first time since the accident, gently running her fingers over the area. A big lump, about an inch and a half in diameter. A long scab, a straight line through the lump, small raised portions indicating stitches. What had she been expecting?

She sat on the toilet, looking at her hands. How much had really changed? How much had _she_ changed? The trash can caught her eye, and she lifted it up, looking into the contents. Mostly paper. She put it back down with a sigh. It wasn't like any secret revelations were going to be made by looking through the... hang on. Dropping the can had shuffled its contents. She picked out the thin, sleek piece of plastic, bringing it up to her eyes. A positive pregnancy test. That... was not news anymore. She dropped it back into the trash, looking up at the ceiling. She was pregnant... With _their_ baby. There was no way she could stop thinking about him. She was literally carrying a piece of him inside her.

After washing her hands, she went into her bedroom, sitting down on the, thankfully, larger bed. Hospital beds weren't something anyone enjoyed sleeping on. It took her a moment to realize there were teardrops rolling down her cheeks. Why was she crying? She tried to rub them away, tried to stop, but they kept dripping down, leaving dark circles on the lap of her jeans. She looked around, blinking. She didn't feel at home. She was crying because it felt like she was sitting in someone else's apartment, someone who had seamlessly taken her place, used her belongings, moved everything around. And, to top it all off, she had pushed away the only person who had any idea about who that person was. And his stuff was... everywhere.

She could see a shirt and tie peeking out of the closet, ones that definitely weren't hers.

She walked over, arranging her clothes so she could get a better look at it. She caressed the light blue fabric, heart suddenly heavy. She... missed him.

No. She had needed to break it off. For both of their sakes. She looked at the sleeve in her hand, then slowly around the room. She was alone. No one else would know if she cared. And so, from some deep set urge, she hugged the shirt, engulfing herself in his strangely familiar scent...

He buttoned up his shirt, tie slung around his neck. "Come on, Cameron. Can't be late. House is waiting."

She groaned, rolling over in bed. The one time he wakes up first... "No he isn't."

He tilted his head. "Cuddy's waiting."

Okay, that was actually true. She swung her legs out of bed, standing up reluctantly. Walking over, she looked through the closet, trying to find something to wear. "You know, even after dating this long, we still call each other by our last names more than our first."

He adjusted his tie, shrugging. "They're our names."

She hastily ran a comb through her hair, trying to work out the tangles as quickly as possible. "What, you don't see a problem with that?"

"Not at all."

She changed into a pair of pants, pulling them on one leg at a time. "Well, what if we got married?"

"You'd still be Cameron to me," he said, going to put the comb back.

She slipped on a shirt, fumbling with the buttons. "What about everyone else? You don't see an issue with two Dr. Chase's running around?"

He contemplated this for a second, stopping in his tracks. "I think we just can't stand in the same room together. Like Superman and Clark Kent."

She smirked. "Then which of us is which?"

"Ah, come on, I haven't thought that far ahead," he looked at his watch, dodging the question. "Hurry up, or I'll drive off without you."

Hands shaking, she hung the shirt back on the rack, sitting down on the bed again. That was a memory. It had to be. Her head was throbbing again and she massaged her temples, frowning. She needed to clear her head. Staying here was like being suffocated by the unknown past, wrapped with reminders of the man she had told she didn't love.

Maybe she did love him. Maybe that was worse.

Chase sat in the corner of a patient's room, arms crossed over his chest. The others were there, doing some routine procedures. He wasn't really paying attention. It was like everything had come to a halt after Cameron had left the hospital. He'd sat, frozen for what felt like hours, before Foreman told him to join the rest of the team in... whatever they were doing now. He might as well focus on the case now. There was nothing left for him to lose. He looked over at the patient who moaned in his sleep, rolling over. "How are we meant to be testing for something that's never been discovered?"

Foreman sighed, changing the IV bag of the patient. "I don't know. Maybe it's just 'Black Plague 2.0.'"

The plague, or any derivative of it, would be contagious. They'd been around these patients for days. "None of us are sick."

Foreman raised his eyebrows. "Thank you, Dr. Obvious, I definitely could not have figured that..." he looked away, thinking. "You're thinking environmental cause?"

Chase nodded.

"Well, then we just have to find what these three have in common," Fletcher said, twirling her flashlight. "Otherwise we'll end up picking these people apart piece by piece until we find something."

The idea bothered him more than it should have, partially because of the immaturity of it all. "Thank you, for that mental image," Chase said, standing up.

"You're a doctor," she said, shrugging it off. "It's not that disturbing."

What was she, five? "You're an adult." He rolled his own IV stand over, catching it with a hand. "Anyway, since I can't leave this hospital, you two can figure out the whole snooping situation. I'll be in my room."

Cameron walked down a paved road in the local park, taking in each smell, sight, and sound as a welcome respite from the pale, bleached walls of the hospital. She took a deep breath of the warm late spring air, sighing. Everything she would imagine would be there was there, and she, for once, didn't feel so out of place. Kids were playing on the playground, a happy couple split an ice cream cone, a group of men were playing volleyball in the field, two doctors were snooping around...

Wait, what? They were poking around in the bushes, taking samples of everything. She walked over, eyebrow raised.

"What are you guys doing here?" They both jumped, Foreman nearly dropping the vial he was holding.

"Cameron," he gasped, looking behind her quickly to make sure no one else was around before sighing in relief. "Was worried you were the police or something."

"We're snooping," Fletcher said, shaking an empty biohazard bag.

"What? You guys haven't done anything illegal." Cameron looked around suspiciously. "At least... that I've seen."

"Try being a mother seeing some random black dude digging in the bushes of the park your kid is playing at." Foreman rolled his eyes, holding out the vial. "Trust me, I'm surprised we haven't been arrested yet."

Fletcher shrugged, taking the vial and dropping it into a bag. "You don't think the blonde white woman would change anything?"

Foreman laughed. "It would add kidnapping to the charges," he replied, going deeper into the bushes.

"So, how did you guys end up deciding to look in the park?"

"The first patient was part of a weekly book club, the second is a mother of a five year old, and the last is an ice cream man," Fletcher said, accepting another vial from the hand sticking out of the bush. "And that led us straight here."

"Holy-" The rustling noises stopped.

"Foreman?" Cameron called out, inching slowly toward where the sound stopped.

"Yeah, I-" They could hear him moving slowly, pushing through the foliage. "I think I found something."


	12. Chapter 12

Chase fiddled with one of the lab microscopes, trying to get a better look at the sample. Maybe he was only pretending to try. What was done was done, yet his mind couldn't stop wandering back to Cameron. Maybe he had been too forward. Maybe he had pushed too hard, said too much. Maybe if he had just given up his damn wallet before... His fingers fumbled over the dials, and the image cleared up for a millisecond before becoming an incoherent blur. He swore under his breath before turning it back, more carefully this time. He could feel Foreman's gaze on him, somehow more interested in the man behind the microscope than the plate beneath it. Shrugging it off, he tried to center his attention on the dial, bringing the image slowly into focus. Chase could tell the neurologist wanted to talk. He, on the other hand, did not. If he could just ignore him long enough to finish...

Foreman nodded his head upward. "What's up with you?"

Chase's hand reflexively jerked up, ruining the image. Damn. He lowered the arm slowly, restarting the mundane task of refocusing. "Nothing."

Foreman nodded slowly, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Right." He leaned back in the chair, gesturing his head toward the dial Chase had been fussing over. "You need some help with that?"

Chase dropped his arms down, sighing as he rolled his chair back a few inches. "Cameron broke up with me," he said, looking Foreman in the eye before rolling back to the microscope.

Chase could feel him watching him again, the mystery disease nearly forgotten with the new revelation. The silence dragged on as he finally focused the picture, stopping short of looking at it. Sitting up, he turned his head, frowning. "You don't have anything to say about that? You've been seeing her more than me these days."

The man rubbed his goatee, giving a half shrug. "You just gotta give her some time. Relationships are about perseverance. And, if you can't handle that, well..." he shrugged again, clasping his hands together in his lap, "maybe she was right to break it off."

"Hang on..." Chase said, waving him off as the image through the microscope finally caught his eye. "What _is_ that?" The pale slimy substance pulsed slowly, seeming to vibrate on its own.

"Your mom," House said, walking into the room with Fletcher close behind.

"It's... moving," he said, leaning in. "Also, my mum's dead."

"Some sort of amoeba? Strange organism?" Foreman suggested.

"Maybe it's a mold or fungus?" Fletcher wondered, tapping her foot.

"Here, let me see," House said, nudging Chase out of the way with his cane.

He cried out in pain, doubling over as he fell out of the chair, collapsing on the ground.

"Oh, don't be a baby," House said, "it was only a..." He took a closer look at the now collapsed man, hands shaking, tinged red with his own blood.

"...ah. Call the surgeon." The other two rushed over, turning him over on his stomach. A dark red stain was slowly growing on the back of the gown, spots of blood dripping onto the ground.

"Does someone want to explain to me what Doctor Chase was doing out of bed?" Cuddy demanded, arms crossed. She scanned her office, looking accusingly at everyone, one at a time.

House darted his eyes back and forth. "Nose goes," he said, putting a finger up to his own. Fletcher seemed to consider doing the same, but changed her mind after seeing Foreman's stony expression.

He sighed, not moving his arms from a crossed position. "Do you even need us to tell you? It's obvious that House had something to do with it."

"Oh, you spoilsport," House muttered, dropping his arm down. "I needed more hands on deck. What was I supposed to do?"

Cuddy shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, I don't know, hire more people instead of hiding Cameron's file and forging notes?" She held up Chase's release note. "This looks nothing like Doctor Sanchez's handwriting."

"I hired _her_!" House exclaimed, pointing at Fletcher with a fake puppy-dog face.

The presentation of this fact did not faze the unamused dean. "One person. Out of how many? You deleted all the other appointments afterwards, too. If it wasn't enough, I could've brought you more-"

"Come on, you think I want to waste my time looking at so many useless idiots? _Look_ at her!" He pointed at Fletcher with more emphasis, as if it would be convincing in any way.

"I've just done what you've asked me to," Fletcher said, confused. "Which, might I mention, was basically nothing."

"Look," Foreman interjected, raising up his hands, "this entire conversation is pointless. We already know that..." He frowned at his arm, eyes suddenly widening in concern. No... that couldn't be... He rolled up his sleeve, alarmed. It was harder to notice against his darker skin, but the upraised red bumps were unmistakable.

"Doctor Foreman?"

"Yeah..." He ran a finger over the bumps gently. "Whatever's under that microscope, that's our culprit."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: To the guest reviewer who let me know something was wrong: Thanks!**

House laughed incredulously, tapping his cane on the ground. "Wow. You guys are dropping like flies. It'll be an endless stream of doctors in and out."  
"Very funny," Foreman muttered, sitting cross-legged on his hospital bed. "Did anyone ever tell Cameron what happened-"

"Tell me what?" she asked, poking her head in.

"You're here," Foreman said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," she said, brushing her hair back with a hand. "Tell me what?"

"About Chase," Foreman replied, loosening his tie. "And me, I suppose," he said, scoffing.

"Yeah. Cuddy called." Cameron looked around the room. Nothing much had changed since she moved out that morning. "I guess you've moved in nicely."

Foreman shrugged. "You can't have it anymore. It's mine now."

House's brow was furrowed, and he pointed a finger at the neurologist. "You loosened your tie."

He gave him a sideways glance. "Yes. Am I not allowed to-"

"You have a fever."

He blinked, perplexed. "Yes."

House had already looked away in thought. "That's faster than the last few patients."

Cameron, on the other hand, was practically hugging the doorway, biting her lip. "Where's Chase?"

"He should be in surgery right now," Foreman said, examining his arm again.

"What even happened?" she said in disbelief, taking a few slow steps into the room.

"House," Foreman said, moving his head toward him without looking.

Her head snapped to face the accused. "Well, what did you do?" Cameron exclaimed, outraged. "Punch him?"

"Poked him, actually," House said with a shrug. "Bled all over the nice lab floor. Luckily, no carpeting."

The image of Chase sprawled out on the ground bleeding half to death was not a comforting one. "He could sue for assault," Cameron retorted, irritated.

House laughed at the idea. "He won't."

She marched up to him. "And how are you so sure of that?"

"Well, Ms. Uptight," House said, pretending to be in thought, "remember that one time Chase caught us making out on the diagnostics room table naked?" He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh wait, no, no you don't..."

Cameron glared at him huffily, crossing her arms. He was joking. There was no way. That couldn't have happened. She honestly didn't know, and that just fueled the fire blazing in her chest.

"Didn't happen," Foreman said, running a finger over the bumps on his arm. He poked some of them cautiously, frowning intently.

Okay. Good. Cameron shot a final displeased stare at House before looking over at the arm, quickly recognizing the patterned red bumps. "Caught the mystery disease?"

"Mhm..." Foreman nodded. "They don't really hurt, but they kinda... burn."

Fletcher walked in clutching papers, sliding past Cameron in the doorway. "So, I ran some identifying tests on the blobby thing, and... well... it's-"

House snatched the paper from her, glancing over it quickly. "Survey says..." He looked closer, frowning. "... a parasite." He paced the room, deep in thought. "Now where would it be hiding?"

Fletcher slowly put down the arm that had been holding the papers. "Judging by the presentation of the rash, check the arms?"

House nodded and walked to the table, picking up a syringe. "Foreman, give me your arm." He grabbed it, sticking the needle into one of the bumps before the neurologist could respond.

"Ow! Hey!"

A tiny bit of liquid was sucked out, and House held it under the light, shaking the syringe. White, filled to the brim with little grainy bits. "You know what that looks like to me?" He glanced around at the team's hesitant faces before rolling his eyes. "The other thing."

Cameron squinted at the liquid. "They almost look like... eggs."

House nodded. "Hey newbie," he said, holding it out, "figure out how to kill this."

Fletcher took the syringe somewhat warily, holding it at a distance while leaving the room.

"I," House said, limping to the door, "am going to buy a Reuben. If Foreman suddenly explodes, you know who to call." He limped briskly out before either of them could respond.

Cameron watched him disappear down the hall, perplexed. "He's being awfully flippant about a disease that literally killed a guy yesterday."

Foreman shook his head. "He shouldn't have died. I-" he sighed, looking away.

Cameron squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure you did all you could. Maybe he wouldn't have died at that exact moment, but... we don't even have a cure right now."

Foreman sighed. "Yeah. I know." He looked out the door, rubbing his goatee. "I don't think he's buying a sandwich."


	14. Chapter 14

Cameron sat, pressed up against the wall of his room, silently watching Chase sleep. Sleep wasn't necessarily the right term, but, it made her feel a little better. Anesthesia induced unconsciousness was closer to the truth. Maybe if she ignored the breathing mask strapped to his face she could trick herself into thinking... oh, who was she kidding?

The guilt was eating her away from the inside out. She hadn't had anything to do with what happened, but... she could've stepped in, could've ran the tests instead. Shattering his heart to bits for the second time in a week probably hadn't helped either. She wanted so desperately to apologize, to take it all back. Would that even be the right thing to do? What if he didn't accept the apology?

She looked up at the ceiling, each ticking second feeling like an eternity. If she wasn't looking up, she'd be watching his heart monitor obsessively, worried that each little change in the numbers would suddenly become a drastic drop or spike. She snuck a look, just in case, running it through her head. Heart rate steady. O2 stats normal. Blood pressure was fine.

"He's not going to die if you look away."

Cameron jumped in her seat, turning to shoot a dirty look at House before looking back. Heart rate up 1 bpm. Maybe he had heard?

"Come on," he said, walking closer. "I'm going to stick a needle into someone. It'll be fun." He wagged the syringe back and forth in the air as Cameron tried to ignore him. Lowering it, he followed her gaze to the unconscious man in the bed. "Well. At least more fun than this." He stuck out a hand, eyebrows raised. She could almost sense a hint of warmth behind his piercing gaze.

She glanced over at Chase one last time, making a silent promise to come back, to make things right, whatever that meant. With a sigh, she grabbed House's hand and pulled herself up.

She followed him down the hall, trying to keep up with the surprisingly brisk pace. "So what's the big idea?"

House lifted the syringe up. "I inject someone with something, see if they get better."

She speed-walked in front of him, cutting him off. "What, so you know what the cure is?"

House looked up, pretending to consider the statement, before walking faster. "Well, we'll find out, won't we?"He turned into a patient's room, syringe in hand.

The patient's... relative? Spouse? looked up in alarm as they entered, nearly dropping her magazine.

"Hi. I'm Doctor House. This is for your..."

The woman closed the magazine slowly, eyeing the two through narrowed eyes. "Sister."

"Right." He looked at Cameron, holding out the syringe. "Do you want to do the honors?"

The clear liquid inside it could have been one of a million things. "I don't even know what it is."

House picked up the patient's tube, injecting the solution. "Oh! Too late! What a shame."

The woman's eyes widened. "What did you just do?" she demanded, jumping up. "Who are you, really? Who's she?"

Neither of them were wearing lab coats, or anything that would indicate they were doctors. The woman must've been absolutely terrified. "I'm Doctor Cameron, I-"

The woman got into her face, eyes glaring straight through her. "I am calling security. You need to leave. Now"

Cameron held out her hands defensively. "Ma'am, please, I assure you-"

House slung an arm over Cameron's shoulders, pulling her back. "We're leaving."

Cameron shrugged the arm off, whirling around to face him. "What? But you-"

"We'll be back in an hour," he called out as they made their way to the door. "You'll be thanking us by then." He chucked the syringe into the air, bouncing it off the wall into the proper disposal.

It only felt like a few minutes after she sat back down before House was tapping on the glass window, holding up his wrist with an obnoxious smirk. "Time's up."

She wasn't any closer to knowing what to say to Chase, but dragged herself out the door nonetheless. Was the patient really better? What if she had gotten worse... or... worse? House had been fairly confident about his cure... but he had also been fairly confident about every incorrect diagnosis. If this didn't work... She met Foreman's eyes through the window as they walked past his room. The alternative wasn't good, that was for sure.

"You should make up your mind before he wakes up."

She blinked, turning to look at him, but he had already strolled into the patient's room, twirling his cane. "So, I believe a 'thank you Doctor House' is in order?"

The woman in the bed was sitting up and conscious, the color back in her face. "I believe so. I can't thank you enough, I-" she fell back suddenly, unresponsive.

Cameron ran forward, reaching for her flashlight but grabbing only the fabric of her shirt. Right. No coat, no flashlight. She lifted up the woman's eyelids regardless, checking her eyes quickly before putting a hand on her abdomen, eyes going wide. "Her liver's failing."

House nodded solemnly, as if he had already been expecting this outcome. "She'll need a transplant, but otherwise, she should be fine."

"And you know this how?"

He smirked, a glint in the icy blue of his eyes. "Don't worry. I'll let you know once the gang's all together."

Some time later, Cameron sat at the diagnostics room table, zoning out at the wall with a bagel in front of her. Foreman rolled an apple from hand to hand. House was ignoring them in the corner, tapping away at his handheld console.

Fletcher burst into the room, gasping for air, files clutched under an arm. "Doctor House! I've got- the- the cure!"

He didn't bother looking up. "You're late."

She leaned on the open door, trying to catch her breath. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, there aren't any patients left to cure."

Foreman tried to spin the apple on his finger, before dropping it on the table. "We're all better." House continued to play his game, a cacophony of little beeps coming from his direction.

Fletcher walked slowly to the table, dropping the results on the table with a thud. Her glare was ice cold, and she stared silently around the room before beginning to speak. "I have been in the lab all day today. And no one thought to tell me that the patients have already been cured?"

Cameron opened her mouth to respond, but House cut her off.

"Nope." House leaned further into his game before groaning in disappointment. "Second place." He got up, tossing the console aside and picking up a rolled up sheet. "So who's ready for the cool reveal?"

Foreman raised an eyebrow, putting the apple down, and Fletcher reluctantly took a seat.

With flourish, House smacked the paper down on the whiteboard. "Tada."

Cameron frowned at the image, trying to decipher what it was. It was a cross section of a body, and, with horror, she began to realize that the entire photo was crawling with tiny worms, undetectable from a distance. "Worms," she whispered.

"They blend in almost seamlessly," Fletcher murmured, leaning closer. "How?"

"They didn't show up in any of the scans," Foreman said, shaking his head. "They must've seamlessly replaced healthy organ tissue, only visible under a microscope."

"And with the drugs..." Cameron started.

"The worms died," Fletcher added.

"Leading to organ failure." The team looked at one another.

House nodded. "I suppose you aren't all complete morons. Congratulations. So, since we discovered the buggers, what do you wanna call them? I'm thinking 'the remains of Cameron's love life', but I'm open to suggestions."

Cameron rolled her eyes, picking up the bagel. "You guys can decide. If you need me, I'll be with Chase."


	15. Chapter 15

"Hey."

Cameron slowly lifted her head up, blinking. The harsh morning sunlight streamed through the open curtains of the room, straight onto her previously asleep face.

"Have you been here all night?"

She turned her head to look at the other person in the room. "...Doctor Wilson?" She rubbed her eyes, making sure she wasn't seeing things in her groggy state.

"I... saw you through the window. Thought you could use a pick-me-up." He held out a mug of freshly poured coffee.

She took the mug with a nod of thanks, holding it in her lap.

"Hasn't woken up yet?"

She shook her head.

"And let me guess, you've been checking everything obsessively, and he's completely fine."

"If you wanted to be House, you could've just called him in."

Wilson sighed, sitting down beside her. "He'll be up soon."

Cameron shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee. It was hot, the liquid warming her up from the inside as it made its way down.

"If you want me to go, I can-" Wilson said, starting to stand up.

"No," Cameron said, holding out a hand. "Stay. Please."

The oncologist nodded, sitting back down.

She took a deep breath, looking away. "I don't what to say to him."

"You say that like there's a right answer," he said with a small laugh. "Just... tell him how you feel."

Cameron sighed, head bowed low. "When I went home yesterday... I thought I wanted to be alone, that I wanted to move on and... well, forget that I had ever forgotten anything."

Wilson raised his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly.

"I know. I know that isn't possible, but I was tired of... pretending. Maybe I was rushing back into things because I wanted to be the person everyone remembered. I- I know I shouldn't have broken it off, but I should have taken things slower. She looked up at him, eyes shining. "I... I kissed him. I thought- I thought it meant that I loved him, but... I don't even think I really know."

Wilson shook his head. "You can't force yourself to love somebody."

She looked into the coffee, watching the little ripples on the surface of the steaming brown liquid. "What if he needs me to?"

"Chase... is grown up. He can handle himself."

Cameron scoffed. "That's easy for you to say. Your life hasn't been splintered apart."

Wilson looked out the window, mouth twisted to the side. "I've been through three divorces. Does that fit the criteria?"

She looked back into the coffee, nodding somewhat guiltily. "I just... need to know."

Wilson tapped his foot on the ground. "Well, think about it this way. If this... incident... occurred at the time point you last remembered, and you hadn't actually forgotten anything, would you still be here?"

Cameron looked up at the bed, debating this in her head. Would she? If she and Chase had never been together... if there wasn't a baby, would she have spent the night by his side? She thought back to the last few days again, about the time they had spent together. Truth be told, she would. She nodded, slowly.

Wilson stood up, smoothing down his lab coat. "There's your answer."

It was another few hours before he first opened his eyes. She saw him look around, confused, before his gaze landed on her.

"I... I was wrong."

His hand went up instinctively to pull the breathing mask off, but she shook her head quickly.

"I saw... I saw your shirt in the closet, and I remembered," she said, breath quickening. "I remembered how I felt, I remembered being with you, I-" she choked up, eyes watering. "Can we- can we just start over?"

He blinked a few times before reaching for the mask again, brows furrowed. He took a deep breath before speaking. "You're saying this... right after you broke up with me yesterday."

Well, now that he said it out loud, it sounded idiotic. She laughed nervously, a welled up tear escaping an eye. "Maybe?" Oh God, he hated her, didn't he? She'd screwed everything up permanently this time. She would have to leave the hospital, start a new life. She was short of planning where she would have to move away to when he sighed, shrugging in resignation.

"Is the date offer still valid?"

The tears were definitely freely streaming down now. She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck, his lips meeting hers somewhere in the middle.

After a moment they parted, and she looked into the pale blue of his eyes, wondering about their first date. And their last date, for that matter. She hoped it wouldn't be like their last date. "Maybe... we should go to a different restaurant this time?"

The smile spread across his face, and he leaned back in contentment. "Sounds great."

She squeezed his hand, and they held each other's gaze for a long moment, feeling completely at peace. They would be okay, she decided, leaning into his shoulder. They would be okay.


	16. Epilogue

Cameron sighed, switching off the television that had been running for far too long already. Putting the remote down, she walked over to the small dining table, looking at the remains of the flowers that had sat, untouched, since she had come home. She was sure they had been full of life, vibrant, and beautiful at some point, not that she could remember. Wilted petals lay here and there, the stems of the flowers browning and crumpling away like old paper.

Picking up the vase, she brought it over to the kitchen, draining the residual water before pulling out the flowers and holding them over the trash. It felt wrong, like she was throwing away the belongings of another person. She had started to think of the Cameron from those months as another person, and not as herself. She had used to think they would be some sort of key, that keeping them with her would suddenly return a memory of receiving them. That she would know what he was wearing that day, what he said when he handed them over. How she felt. She opened her hand, watching them fall into the bin. She had to accept that that just wasn't going to happen.

A knock at the door. She carried the vase back to the table hastily, trying to keep the wet glass from slipping through her fingers, before rushing to the door. Fidgeting with the locks, she managed to pull it open... and there he was. Standing in front of her door like nothing had happened at all. She scanned his face, most evidence of the incident hardly detectable anymore, only the faint hint of bruising along his jawline. He was wearing a fresh suit, not a single misplaced wrinkle in sight.

"Hey," she said in surprise, quickly brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "You're back."

He nodded. "Indeed I am."

She gestured her head at the outfit. "Nice clothes. Not the same ones as that night, I'm assuming."

He smirked at the thought. "Nah. I managed to goad Foreman into picking them up for me."

She smiled disbelievingly. "Right."

He shrugged, giving in. "Okay, Cuddy might have... gently persuaded him to. Mind if I come in?"

She shook her head, stepping out of the way. "No, not at all."

He sat on the couch, sprawling out as if he had done it a thousand times before. Maybe he had. "You know, I've been thinking."

She closed the door before walking over. "Hm?"

"About the future. Do you think we might have a future together?"

She sat on one of the armrests, facing inward. "Kind of a loaded question, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "I suppose, yeah. After all, to you, we've been dating a week and a half. 'Dating', even," he said, adding finger quotations. "But, give or take seven months..."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get it." She looked away, lips pressed together. She had made the right decision, hadn't she? Very soon there would be a point of no return.

"Doesn't even have to be marriage, at least not yet." He nudged her leg gently, and she looked back at him. "I didn't get all dressed up so we could sit around. Get yourself dressed. I made a reservation."

"Right now?" she asked, hopping off the couch frantically.

He looked at his watch. "Well, about half an hour from now."

She rushed into the bedroom, practically throwing her closet apart looking for an outfit. "And why didn't you say anything earlier?"

He was laughing. Laughing? They were going to be late. He walked up into the doorway. "Because I wanted to see if you would react the same way as you did the first time."

She froze, a shirt going limp in her grasp. She rolled her eyes, trying to maintain an annoyed facade, but a smile gave away the fact that she found it amusing as well. "I am not a toy, Chase."

"No," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You are so, so much better."

"Right," she said, nudging him back. "Get out of here so I can change."

Reluctantly, he stepped back into the hall. "I know what you look like," he said with a devilish smirk as she shut the door in his face.

"Stop trying to be House," she said, unhooking a dress from a hanger. "Also, I know what you look like too."

"Thought you were too strung out for that," she heard his voice say from behind the door.

She took off her clothes, throwing them to the side carelessly. "Who could forget someone like you?"

He imitated the sound of being wounded. "Now that one hurt."

She pulled on the dress, rolling her eyes. "At my own expense." She tried to feel for the zipper, tugging it up only a few inches before getting stuck. These things were always a hassle. "Chase, help me with this zipper."

"Can't go in there. Doctor's orders."

"Just get-" she started, but his hands were already there, pulling the zipper up flawlessly.

"You look beautiful," he said, eyes shining with wonder as she turned around to look at him.

She smirked, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek before slipping out the door. "Come on. Can't be late to our first date." As he followed her into the living room, a smile lighting up his eyes, she turned to face him. "By the way, the crib was a nice touch."

The smile faltered. "Crib?' He looked to the wall, and there was the box, leaning against it. "I didn't buy..."

Their eyes met with sudden realization.

"Do you think..." she started.

He nodded. "Couldn't have been anyone else."

She laughed, wrapping her arms around him. "Should we thank him?"

Chase shook his head, guiding her out the door. "Nah. He'd play it off, pretend it was someone else." He smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind an ear. "And plus, we don't need to worry about House for a while. We've got a few months to kill, I'd rather we spent them on us."

Without any objections, they walked out of the building, eager to rebuild what had been broken.


End file.
